


MUMBLE

by Archangelsings



Series: Revelations [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bi-racial mc, Bisexual MC, Cross.posted on Wattpad, F/M, Gen. Fiction, LGBT, M/M, MC of Color, Mental Disorders, Paranormal, Supernatural - Freeform, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 51,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangelsings/pseuds/Archangelsings
Summary: His eyes darted to the side and he would have looked back down if not for the firm grip Sam still had on his chin. "Don't look away Ozzie," she chastised, "do not feel less than others. You are not weak. You are stronger than you know. Own it."Slowly, Ozzie brought his eyes back up to meet the pale gray of her own. "Do you believe that?" He asked, sounding even smaller than before and looking every bit the mousy fifteen year old he didn't want to be.Sam held his gaze, as serious as anything. "I do," she said vehemently, "Ozzie, you are going to make history. That I Know."





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Thanks for reading MUMBLE here on AO3. Note this is a draft of my original novel that I post on Wattpad. I honestly don't expect anyone to read this here but alas. If you do thanks! Hope you enjoy!

0.

**_James wasn't around anymore_** _. And no, he wasn't dead (though sometimes it felt like it), he was just... gone, off to L.A, living his star-studded Hollywood dream. And, yeah okay, Ozzie knew it wasn't fair, and he wasn't_ really _angry - he was proud dammit, he_ was, _his_ best friend _was going to be on the big screen! - no matter what he said, James was someone from their_ _bourgie_ _ass town that got out, someone who was actually making a name for themselves, but there was a part of him that just couldn't help feeling jealous of James all the same._

_And that wasn't the saddest thing. No. That belonged to the jealous part. Because really, that was just him being scared of being lonely._

_It was pathetic._

_Ozzie remembered the moment he stole James' favorite sweater clearly. It was right before he left. His last day in fact. Thinking about it made him feel a bit like a girl and way more sentimental than he'd have liked but he did it anyway._

_He remembered that the fabric was soft and worn between his fingers, a dark green that reminded him of James' eyes. The sleeves were fraying at the wrists, looking moth eaten where James had inadvertently taken to stress biting their ends._

_It was well loved, that sweater, smelling of Axe and weed and something just a touch muskier beneath that - which was actually a pretty fucking gross combination - but it was something that was just so_ James _and that knowledge by itself was enough to make his heart hurt._

_He remembered that he didn't cry that day. He wanted to, but he didn't. He was strong enough to avoid that._

_Maybe he should have though, the vindictive, lonely side of him said. It's the part that Ozzie kept buried deep, a little devil locked behind a closet door. James would have given everything up for him, even then. His heart was just too big._

_Ozzie knew one day it was going to get James hurt._

_Instead, he helped James pack what few things he was shipping down to SoCal and Ozzie didn't care that the mood was a little (a lot) more somber than it would have usually been between them. Neither mentioned it. They were together and that had to be enough._

_Even if it really, really wasn't_.

_So, when the opportunity presented itself, Ozzie took the sweater. It was big on him, falling to his mid thighs, his body drowning in its cotton folds, but that wasn't a surprise. It didn't matter that Ozzie was a year younger, he was a mousy fifteen and James was taller at sixteen, already six foot, and more filled out than Ozzie could ever dream of being._

_He remembered that was how James found him when he came back to the room. He was swamped in James' sweater, sleeves pressed against the thin line of his lips, looking small and over bony with how it hung off his shoulders, his knees pulled up to his chest._

_James didn't say anything though, he just walked over to Ozzie and brought him into this weird half-hug - more of a hold - the crook of his arm bearing Ozzie's head down against_ _his_ _sternum. His other arm came up to bracket the side of Ozzie's face._

_And they stayed like that, breathing._

_"I'm just a phone call away," James had said quietly after awhile, voice more subdued than Ozzie could ever remember hearing it._

_"Sounds like a song lyric," Ozzie had forced out, "_ 'just a phone call away'," _he warbled tunelessly, catching a whiff of James' deodorant through his shirt. He bit his lip, "'M sure those L.A_ _chicks'll_ _love it." James laughed_ , _void of humor._

_"I mean it though," he breathed, patting the top of Ozzie's head. "Anytime. I'll always pick up."_

_"I know," Ozzie whispered._

_And he did. It was why Ozzie let go. He had to. Because James' heart was too big for his body, too big for the world really and it was plastered on his sleeve for all to see. He had to let go, because keeping all that to himself wasn't an option._

_It didn't make him a good person, Ozzie knew, but it made him something that wasn't bad and that was enough for him at this point._

_When they parted, the two of them went back to packing. When they finished, James ordered pizza and they ate in the maze of boxes they'd set up until the sun had fully set. Then it was time for bed. James' dad still wasn't home (which wasn't really that odd, the man had seemingly forgotten he had a son by the time James had turned ten) so Ozzie took a shower and crashed on the sofa._

_He thought it would take him ages to fall asleep but it didn't._

_(In his_ _dream_ _he was happy. Cynthia hadn't cheated on him but they'd still broken up and James was still the best friend anyone could ask for. There was a kiss too, one that sparked butterflies in his stomach, black hair tickling his cheeks and for once Ozzie was tilting his head up to meet the lips in front of him. He was smiling, he knew, and his partner was too, their laugh deep and warm and--)_

_Then it was morning and James had to go. Ozzie watched as the movers came and took the boxes they'd packed up away and James stood by his side until he couldn't anymore. He turned, bringing their foreheads together, green eyes meeting honey-gold._

_"Be good Romanoff," James said._

_A watery laugh. "Right back at you, Stark. Stay an asshole, yeah?" Ozzie mumbled._

_"'Course man," he smiled, warm and soft, giving the back of Ozzie's neck a squeeze. Then they were hugging, full body, chest to chest, hip to hip and Ozzie was more than willing to stand there until the movers said they were ready to go and James had to pull back._

_Ozzie sniffed. "Bye," he whispered, throat burning._

_"Hey," James said, "don't cry man. Phone call remember? It'll be fine. We'll be fine. Like Gucci bro."_

_"'M not crying," he sniffed again, "and you're a dork."_

_"You love me."_

_"Yeah."_

_James' lips twitched with just the faintest of ticks upwards, though his eyes remained sad. "We'll be fine," he repeated, then sighed, running a hand through his raven curls. A truck honked behind them. The movers where getting impatient. "Well," he said, "guess this is bye for now." Ozzie just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. James would never leave if he did._

_So he watched. Silent._

_"Take care of yourself, Oz."_

_He walked away after that, backwards and clumsy on the two left feet he'd been born with before getting in the car. He waved_ _once more._

_Then James_ _was gone._

_It was only after the fact that Ozzie realized he was still wearing James' sweater - that his friend had left it behind for him to keep. It filled his stomach with butterflies and he finally let the tears run down his face. And it was weird, because now Ozzie couldn't really say they were sad. They were sweet, but tinged with something a little sour but above all he was at peace. Content._

_He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his stolen sweater and began the short walk home._

++++

"Do you feel it?" Sam asked. Her voice was hardly over that of a whisper, light and airy like the smoke in the room. Ozzie kept his eyes closed, the smell of incense vaguely overpowering, "it will only work if you find tranquility." Ozzie frowned.

"Like Nirvana," he said.

"Some say the _Touch_ is synonymous with enlightenment, if that is what you mean," Sam replied, "it is a feeling of peace and understanding in the world around you. Do you have your moment?"

_Green sweaters and dreamed kisses. Black hair and a dimpled smile. Tears not born of sadness but something much more complicated. Something much less easily defined._

"I-" Ozzie bit his lip.

"You do," he heard the sound of rustling and then he smelled rosemary on top of the incense, strong enough to make him gag. "Keep your eyes closed," Sam warned, "I'm going to touch your forehead. It will be cold for a moment but it will help you focus." There was the pop of a cap and then a breath running across his face that smelled like cinnamon. Ozzie wrinkled his nose.

"How do you even know I have it?" He mumbled, disgruntled as he felt Sam's finger begin to trace lines across his skin.

"Because of the Knowing," she said simply, "not unlike how you Visit. Where you see the past imprinted in the objects you come in contact with, I can see the future. It is how I found you in the first place. I Knew you would need my help." Her hands stopped moving against his face and the smell of cinnamon and rosemary began to fade.

"Wish I could do that."

"No, Ozzie," came the response, "you do not. The Sight is as dangerous as it is powerful. Do not wish for the blessings of others for they very well may become your curse. Now--" she said,"--open your mind."

And Ozzie did.

It was sudden, the rush. His forehead burned where Sam had placed the oil, but he hardly noticed that with everything else he was feeling. It was sensory overload, everything suddenly sharper, the smells the sounds, the feelings.

"Holy shit," he gasped, eyes snapping open.

"Focus," Sam directed, calm as a placid lake.

"On, _what_?!" Ozzie grit out. His vision was swimming, lines upon lines of...he wasn't even sure what, clouding his sight, "everything's just rocketed up a million."

"Direct it," Sam said, "give it purpose. Let it flow through you, like water. You have it bottled up, breathe, close your eyes. Focus."

Ozzie gasped again, wincing as another wave of, whatever the fuck he was feeling rolled through him, but he complied all the same. He closed his eyes. _Breathe, she said._ He could do that. So he did. And she was right. It did help, the burn started to fade, replaced by that really awesome mellow feeling he'd felt at the start. It was like being high but like a bigillion times better. Okay. He could do this.

_Direct it, she said. Let it flow through you, she said._

He had no idea how to do that, he just knew he wanted it out of him. Because no matter how good the high, it was still overwhelming, too many points of stimulation to be remotely comfortable.

_Well, Sam had called it the Touch..._

So, Ozzie focused on his hands. He imagined all of the well... _energy_ in his palms, tingling in his fingertips, not unlike the static he felt when he Visited. He breathed. He felt the waves traveling through his body and he imagined he could feel them pooling in that one spot. He wasn't really sure it was working though. All he knew was that things were starting to feel even less overwhelming, more controlled in his mind, like maybe at some point soon this whole Touch thing would actually be manageable.

Then it was gone.

Ozzie blinked, staring confusedly at Sam. "That's...it?" He asked. He brought his hands up to his face as if they'd have mystically changed in the past however many minutes it had took him to come back down from his spiritual high. 

"For now, yes," Sam nodded and stood up, blowing out her candles and incense sticks, "you've taken the first steps towards understanding, which is all I Know to happen."

Ozzie cocked his head to the side, stretching out his legs. He didn't trust standing yet. Even if he was no longer 'enlightened' he could still feel the aftershocks trembling through his limbs, almost like dull phantom pains. "W'as that mean?" He asked, hair falling out of his eyes.

"It means that this was our last lesson," Sam said softly, hand poised over a fluffy, sequin lined pillow, "it is time for the both of us to move on. I'm sorry." She picked it up, moving it back onto the couch of her trailer. "I have nothing left to teach you."

"...Oh," Ozzie bit his thumbnail, brow furrowing. He licked his lips, bringing his gaze down to his faded jeans, "but what am I supposed to do now?"

Sam sighed. She crossed the distance between them in a few short strides. "Now," She said, kneeling beside him and tilting his chin up with her forefinger, "you carve your own path." She opened his palm and slipped something small and cylindrical inside it, curving his fingers back into a fist when that was done, "do you understand what I am saying? Your destiny is yours to make. Let no one tell you otherwise."

Ozzie swallowed. "Do you mean that?" he whispered.

She smiled. "Of course Ozzie."

His eyes darted to the side and he would have looked back down if not for the firm grip Sam still had on his chin. "Don't look away Ozzie," she chastised, "do not feel less than others. You are not weak. You are stronger than you know. Own it."

Slowly, Ozzie brought his eyes back up to meet the pale gray of her own. "Do you believe that?" He said, sounding even smaller than before and looking every bit the mousy fifteen year old he didn't want to be.

Sam held his gaze, as serious as anything. "I do," she said vehemently, "Ozzie, you are going to make history. That I Know."

 


	2. PART ONE

Dear Nobody,

Hi again, I guess. The shrink sorta told me off for not writing in this thing last week. I just don't see the point. Don't get me wrong, I get the theory. I get the application. I just don't see how it's supposed to help _me_. I'm supposed to be doing this to 'express myself' and 'work out my problems' or some other new-age bullshit. Honestly, to me it just sounds like a lazy cop-out for a lazy shrink who doesn't want to do any work but wants to still have something to talk about. _I see here you were feeling particularly shitty this week Ozzie. Care to elaborate?_ Nah not really, I mean I always feel shitty, that's sorta why I'm here. _So, it had nothing to do with XYZ?_ Great job, I see you can read. Want a cookie? _Now, no need to be hostile Ozzie._ See? Lazy.

Oh and of course the want to get paid. Huh. I probably shouldn't say that though right?

But fine. Okay. I'll bite.

People always ask me: _'Ozzie, why do you hate your Birthday so much?'_ Well. No. No one asks that, because no one knows that the thought of my birthday makes me want to puke. But if people did, that's probably what they'd ask.

The answer? Because...

NOYFB.

(That's 'none of your fucking business' by the way)

Ha. You probably thought I'd actually humor you. Funny. Sorry. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Figure it out yourself. You have my file. You know what I've been through.

HMU when you do.

...That means 'hit me up'...seriously, brush up on your 21st century acronyms.


	3. R E M E M B E R I N G ②⓪①③ -[The Seventeenth Birthday]

②⓪①③

  
**It was June. Early in the month and** ** _hot_** **.** A time where the edges of spring and summer met, blurring together like a shimmering mirage in a desert. The colors seemed to vibrate in anticipation of the coming season, waiting to explode in a flurry of reds and oranges and vibrant yellows. Already the poppies were blooming, turning grassy fields a warm honey gold, their leaves a shock of green in between the petals.

Ozzie brought the joint back up to his lips, inhaling slowly as he watched a faint copper glow light up the tip. He held it for a beat, feeling the smoke slip smoothly down into his lungs before exhaling and passing it on. He grinned. That was good stuff. His body slumped back against the balcony wall. Outside it was raining. Hot and humid and he could smell it all, thoroughly protected from the wet by the balcony's awning.

The smoke curled in the air, dipping upwards between his pursed lips. It was James' idea to do this, sporting a fresh new tan and bag full of weed courtesy of his stint in Los Angeles. His most recent film had just finished shooting and he'd decided _what the heck, let's pay Ozzie a visit_. Ozzie vaguely remembered James saying something about this being _the first week of Ozzie's summer vacation_ and _to_ _take proper advantage of it_ as he'd sauntered into his room before promptly flopping-- _f_ _alling_ \--onto Ozzie's bed.

James' body was a long strip of sluggish arms and uncoordinated feet so Ozzie couldn't really say he'd been surprised when his friend had tripped during the two-step journey across the room. Classic James. Able to make teenage girls swoon without a word in a movie but barely able to cross a street on his own in real life.

Still Ozzie wouldn't complain. He wouldn't. In all honesty, it was one of the few things that still made him smile. It wasn't really like James had any other reason to come back to their boring middle of nowhere town in Northern California except for him. The thought made him grin even more dopily.

It'd been awhile since he'd been able to do this. Relax. He felt loose-limbed and content and something else, something close to _happy_.

James took a hit. His cheeks dimpled and his eyes crossed a bit as he tried looking at the joint between his fingers. His brow wrinkled. Ozzie wanted to reach over and smooth his hand across it. No one should look so serious when they were getting _high_. Even _he_ was grinning. James breathed out and chuckled in Ozzie's direction, his ebony curls bouncing with the movement.

James tilted his head to the side.

"Wa's so funny?" Ozzie slurred.

James grinned. "Your face," he drawled, voice slow and low and even. It reminded Ozzie of someone thinking really hard about what they were going to say next. And not in a _I'm-thinking-of-the-most-diplomatic-response_ kind of way but in a legitimate sort of _I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-trying-to-say-so-let's-just-say-it-real-slow-like-so-they-won't-notice_ kind of way. James handed the joint back to Ozzie. "You look like you need to take a shit."

"Ay," Ozzie took back the joint and gave his friend the finger. His cheeks hollowed as he blew a smoke ring in his friend's face, "fuck you man."

James held his hands up in surrender. "What?! You do!"

"Yeah?" Ozzie rolled his eyes and took another hit from the joint before slouching back against the wall, "well whatever." He looked down at the joint between his fingers. The end was burning dangerously close to his fingertips. "You gonna finish this? Or...?" He left the question hanging in the air.

"Nah, you can," James said with a wave of his hand, "I can get more back in L.A."

Ozzie snorted. "Fuckin' movie star."

"Don't hate just 'cause you're jealous man."

Ozzie took one last long hit from the joint and stubbed it out on the ground beside him. He brushed his hair out of his face, the stringy black locks moving across his forehead and out of his eyes. He raised an eyebrow in James' direction, leveling him with his most deadpan look.

"What?" James blinked, "don't give me that look."

The corners of Ozzie's lips twitched upwards and he rubbed his thumb across them, like the action could somehow hide the grin growing there. His stubble felt rough against his finger. Sighing, he slid down to the balcony floor, his hair fanning out around his face. His arms mirrored the movement.

"So," James cleared his throat, expression suddenly serious, "how was school this semester?"

Ozzie tensed. "Fine." He shrugged.

James turned to fully face him. "You know if people are giving you hard time again-"

"Things're okay, 'kay?" Ozzie flipped onto his side, lips pulling together in a taut line, "you don't need to worry about me."

James frowned. "I know, but after last year-"

"It's done okay?!" Ozzie bit out, "My dad helped me through it, explained some stuff to me, and Sam's been a real help with the whole low self-esteem thing. Just drop it."

James opened and closed his mouth before nodding and running a hand through his hair. "Okay..." he said, "just know I got you okay? If you need it? Even when I'm in L.A. I'm just a call away."

"I know," Ozzie hugged his knees to his chest. A pause, "M' sorry." He mumbled.

"It's 'kay," he scooted closer to Ozzie and wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulder. "What're friends for huh?"

 _This_ , Ozzie couldn't help but think. It would be so easy to just tell James the truth. Especially in this moment, with the sun setting and the last of spring rains dissipating into summer heat-waves. All of his feelings low and calm and mellow.

It would be so easy to tell him that sometimes when he tries really hard he can know things he isn't supposed to know. Secrets about people's lives and families from a single touch. Never touching the person themselves, but by holding their watch or necklace or the teddy-bear they've had since birth, he can see things, flashes of images, tidbits of sounds. Lies and truth's better left buried.

He could do it. He could let James, his best friend, the only person he could ever trust with his secret, in. He knows it would be a weight off his shoulders to have someone other than his father to confide in.

Ozzie looked down at the silver band inlaid with emerald wrapped around James finger. He could grab it. Close his eyes and tell him everything. Ozzie knew it would work too, because James never took that ring off. It had belonged to his mother before she ran off god knew where when he was eight. He was sure it was packed with memories.

"Everything alright?"

Ozzie blinked. James was looking at him with wide concerned eyes. He bit his lip.

"Fine," he said, "just- " His mouth opened- _I know it'd seem crazy but I swear_ -his lips snapped shut. He couldn't do it. He _can't_ do it. Not after Cynthia. Ozzie turned away hunching in on himself. "Never mind."

He heard James snort and some faint rustling as he repositioned himself beside Ozzie, a bag of Doritos in his hand. He took a bite, munching on a handful. "You're a shit liar Oz," he said around the mouthful of chips. Crumbs dusted the corners of his lips and his tongue peeked out to lick them away. "But okay, it's your birthday," he swallowed, sighing contentedly and leaning back on his arms. "I'll drop it."

"Thanks," Ozzie mumbled, scooting into a corner himself. It was comfortable, the silence and they stayed like that for a good few minutes as the rain picked up. Ozzie stared out at it, the sky a sea of endless gray while James lounged peacefully beside him, a humming sort of purr leaving his throat like a house cat's.

Sighing, Ozzie glanced over at the other boy as he sleepily smacked his lips. There was a patch of skin, pale like ivory and milky smooth peeking out from under James' shirt. Ozzie quickly looked away, wringing his hands in his lap. Guilty.

"S'when's the red-carpet gig?" Ozzie asked. " _'Jamie Evans: Breakout star of 2013'_ right?" A small half smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

James scoffed and out of the corner of his eye Ozzie saw him scratch his forehead. "I wouldn't say that Oz. Movie's not even out yet."

"Come on," he said, nudging the eighteen-year-old with his foot, "you're Tony Stark, man, cocky and charming as fuck. Hollywood'll eat you up."

"Whatever you say Romanoff."

"Don't even, you know Black Widow is bad ass."

James grinned. "Johansson _has_ a hot ass. I've seen it. Hollywood has its perks."

Ozzie snorted, shaking his head. "You're _so_ full of shit."

"Got you to lighten up though," James said in that low drawn out way of his. "Figure that's gotta count for something."

Ozzie blinked, his chest suddenly feeling tight and warm and he's giddy like a school girl but at the same time dreading the feeling and-oh no-oh shit-he's seriously fucked now and-

_Come on, Oz, it's the rebound talking, don't fuck seventeen years of friendship up over a rebound. You'll regret it and James will hate you and then you'll hate yourself even more and be_ _girlfriendless_ _and best-friendless and holy shit you're going to do it anyway-_

He wasn't consciously aware that he was leaning in, just that James' eyes were closed so he had no idea that Ozzie was licking his lips nervously right above him, so close, but not close enough-

_Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it-_

But he had to. His body was trembling, with it, with the same twisted sense of self-loathing that urged him out of art when he was fourteen. The same self-loathing that made him punch Devi Davis in the face in the ninth grade for sneering at his sneakers. His fucked life. In hindsight, it was no surprise Cynthia cheated on him. All he seemed to be able to do was fuck shit up. Tear it all down. Rip it all to shreds. Destroy and maim and _wreck_ until nothing good remained. Until all that was left was a bleeding battered skeleton in a wasteland of his own making.

Heart in his throat, hands clammy with sweat, he breathed a simple, desperate and broken ' _James'_ , his weedy breath brushing over James lips and-

James was looking now. He knew it. Could see it in how James' loose body was suddenly tense and this was it. This was the moment Ozzie wrecked the last stable thing in his life-

His lips touched down. Chapped and rough and lacking in finesse-

James didn't stop him.

He opened his mouth. Pulled Ozzie over his waist and tilted his head up. His mouth tasted like weed and cool ranch. His hands felt strong and steady on Ozzie's hips. James' chest was smooth and firm under Ozzie's grip. His tongue a velvet tease against his own.

_God-_

He wasn't even hard. Neither of them were, but Ozzie kept going. Kept taking. Kept trembling in James' grasp like if he let go Ozzie would float away. And he would. Ozzie knew he would-

"Shh," James pulled back, wrapping his arms fully around Ozzie, the words shaping themselves along Ozzie's lips, "don't cry man. It's okay. I got'chu." _I'm not going away. I'm not going to leave you behind. You're still my best-friend._ James chuckled softly to himself. "Guess this crosses off the bromosexual box in our friendship huh?"

Ozzie buried his face in the crook of James' neck, letting out a watery laugh, ugly tears staining James' collarbone. James rubbed his back.

"F-fuck," Ozzie blubbered, "y-y-you're such an _a-ass-hole_."

"I'm not the one who just made out with their straight best-friend. You're lucky I love your scrawny ass."

"Fuck off." Ozzie mumbled. James patted his back and Ozzie finally relaxed, sniffing loudly.

"Dude, that was fucking gross. Get off, you big baby."

Ozzie gave him the finger.

James sighed. "Fine, you can stay there, but only 'cause it's your birthday."

"You're sucha good friend." Ozzie slurred groggily, "best mate ever."

"Damn straight. I'm Tony fuckin' Stark."

Ozzie snorted.

Six hours later his parents were dead.


	4. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [1]

②⓪①⑤

 **Hunger was a funny thing. Ozzie didn't know why** but it always seemed to hit hardest at night, right in the moments where he wasn't doing much of anything at all. It crept up on him, usually a startlingly piercing nudge in his lower belly that made him open his eyes and blink back up at the pop-corned ceiling of his room. Usually when that happened Ozzie would let out an exasperated breath, fists clenched as they pressed into the lean meat of his stomach as he waited for the pangs to pass. Usually he'd fall asleep like that, maybe a little tense, maybe with a dull ache in the palms of his hands, but it was _sleep_ and the price was one he was more than willing to pay for it to be dreamless.

Hunger, though, was a funny thing. A living thing. A beastly thing. A glutton. A total _bitch_ really. And tonight, Ozzie's tried and true methods of coping just weren't cutting it.

Rolling over onto his side, Ozzie forced out a trembling breath, biting his lip and trying to keep his breathing steady. Outside it was raining. He could hear it gently pitter-pattering against the sole window in his room, a small arch shaped thing made of stained glass—the only one left in the house—but Ozzie liked it. When the sun was out it bathed the room in shimmering rainbows, the colours shifting as the sun fell across the sky. Ozzie would stare at his ceiling for hours, watching golds melt into greens and vibrant sapphire blues. It was soothing. A menial pastime simple in its pleasure. A surefire way to slow down his ever-working mind when nothing else could.

But the sun wasn't out right now. Instead he was left with dreary skies and moonlight. Rain. The warped image of Saint Raphael's face etched in stained glass made to look like he was crying. He honestly wasn't sure which was worse: the silent disappointment he felt bleeding from the window, the hunger that had him curling in on himself, or the rain. Man, did he hate the rain. Ozzie turned away.

Three days. That's how long it'd been since he'd had anything more than one of the many cans of soda he kept stashed under his desk and that was also, ironically, how long it'd been since it'd started raining. As if the weather decided to mourn his loss with him. An overzealous toast between bros. _Late spring showers,_ his Aunt Toni called them, _Spring's last, watery hurrah being pumped on out the sky before finally giving way to that baked bitch we call summer._

Who was he kidding; if anything, it was just to piss him off. Not that Ozzie cared. He just wanted to go the fuck to _sleep._

Groaning as another pang swept through his body, he finally gave in, kicking back the covers on his bed and shakily taking the few steps between it and his desk. He pulled open the bottommost drawer, yanking a protein bar out of the box he kept there and headed towards the window, peeling the wrapper open on the way.

There was a short bench in front of it, a simplistic mahogany thing with a simple white cushion placed on top of it. Ozzie perched himself there, casually resting his side against the window sill, his head against the wall, looking out. Not that there was much to see with Saint Raphael silently judging him through the rain. His stomach growled and Ozzie's hands clenched reflexively over the bar in his hand. He eyed it warily. Raphael's two-dimensional gaze bored back. A silent demand.

 _If I fucking throw up because of this..._ Ozzie winced at the thought.

Lifting the bar up to his mouth, he took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Washed it down with a half-finished can of _7-Up_ he'd left sitting by a near empty pack of cigarettes on the windowsill. Narrowed his eyes back at Raphael's indifferent glance. Waited a moment. Let it sit.

 _Okay..._ At least he didn't feel like he was in immediate danger of puking his guts out...

Ozzie took another bite.

It didn't take him long to finish the bar after that. Just a few more measured mouthfuls and he was licking his fingers clean, tossing the wrapper onto the floor. He'd pick it up later. Right when he decided to _actually_ clean the rest of his room. It wasn't much, he knew, the bar by itself wasn't enough, but his stomach clenched in limbo, stuck in that strange in-between state that couldn't seem to decide whether it was satisfied or not. It would do, he figured.

"Happy now?" he mumbled, staring back at Saint Raphael's blank gaze.

Raphael didn't answer of course, but that was to be expected— His was a face made of glass, sharp and fragile all at once.

Ozzie huffed out a breath, toying with a loose string that stuck out from the waistband of his sweat pants. He wasn't really sure why, but he was looking at Raphael from the corners of his eyes now instead of dead on, his free hand tapping the near empty cigarette carton against the windowsill while a small crease formed on his brow. "You wouldn't be." A soft derisive laugh escaped his throat, more a puff of air than anything, choked and sticking to him like tar. "You don't even know what that _is_."

There was a scathing note of self-deprecation in his voice, his tone rough from disuse and perpetually raspy. Ozzie ignored it, or maybe didn't even notice it; perhaps it was an integral part of his being that he let sit and fester as the rain continued to pour outside.

When it got to be too much—and of course it did with the sound of the rain threatening to deafen him, the sight of it to drown him—he lit his final cigarette, tossing the empty carton at his desk. Three packs for three days. Three Indulgences to keep him sane.

He missed.

The carton bounced off the edge of it, rolling once stiffly on the carpeted floor. He mentally shrugged. Ozzie would pick it up in the morning with the wrapper. Lighting the cigarette with one of the many disposable lighters he kept strewn around the room, he watched it catch, the ember red tip glowing in the darkness. Smoke furled off it, further muddying the air in front of him and filling the room with that acrid tobacco smell. He let it warm him, pulling in deep puffs that eased the trembling in his fingers—the sound of his breathing, long and deep, burying that of the rain.

On the edge of the bench, Ozzie's cellphone buzzed and he tapped it with his foot, dragging it closer to read the message.

From: James—Sent: June 6, 2015 @ 00:00

_Happy Birthday, Oz! Dude, Toni says she has plans for you in the a.m. Which cool. Whatever. Respect and all that to your aunt. She's a BAMF. I'll C U @ 5 though. Think Clint might tag along too. Be ready. It'll be lit._

From: James—Sent: June 6, 2015 @ 00:01

_P.S That's 17:00 for you_

From: James—Sent: June 6, 2015 @ 00:02

_Weirdo_

The words were innocent yet they twisted inside him like a knife, shearing their way up his spine and settling in his heart. They hurt inexplicably and it felt like... like... what, he didn't know. But it hurt. It _hurt_ and he didn't know why. Or. He did, but it was complicated. Or. Really, not even that. Really, he simply didn't want to _know._ Didn't want to _admit_ the why. Because then he'd be forced to accept it, be forced to face it, the reason, and Ozzie, Ozzie didn't really know what to do with _that_ either.

Sighing, Ozzie stubbed out the dying ember of his cigarette, cracking open the window and flicking it out onto the alleyway below. His thumb rubbed idly at his wrist, knocking against the bracelet wrapped around it. The metal was cool where it hadn't been touching his skin. The tips of his fingers were wet where the rain grazed them.

Ozzie scoffed, pulling the window closed and getting up off the bench. One year older. What a joke. He didn't feel one year older. He didn't feel nineteen. He felt forty. The rain drummed against his window. Ozzie ran a hand through his hair. Man, did he hate the rain.

 _Fuck_ the rain.

He crawled back into bed, turning on his side so his back faced the wall. He bit his lip glowering at the _Scarlet Witch_ poster taped to the back of his door.

And _fuck_ his birthday too.

Ozzie closed his eyes. In the small room of a church turned house turned part bookstore, he dreamed of a day full of fake smiles and a rain that never stopped.


	5. R E M E M B E R I N G :  [The Fourteenth Birthday]

### Notes:

> Translation:  
> Guddu: A nickname resembling doll but masculine. It's a pet name Ozzie's mother uses for him  
> Jee: Yes  
> Achha: Okay  
> Ammi: Informal mother. I think of it as like 'mommy'
> 
> (P.S I obviously am not fluent or super familiar with Urdu and its usage so if any of this is incorrect please let me know so I can fix it. I compared as many sources as I could and this is what I know to be correct at the moment)


	6. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: The end of this chapter depicts a panic attack. If that's something that makes you uncomfortable but want to know the gist of what happened, ask in the comments below.

  
②⓪①⑤

 **It was still raining when Ozzie woke up, the sound of it monotonous** and grating in his ears. Ozzie pulled the ends of his comforter close, clenching the gray fabric between his fists as a frown creased the middle of his brow. From his bed, he could still hear the rain falling, a steady downpour that sounded heavier than the drizzle from earlier. It grayed out the sky, just like it grayed out his life, just like it grayed out the colors in his stained-glass window, funneling and muting and warping all light that passed through it.

Los Angeles may not have been _'the city that never sleeps'_ but LA didn't care. It didn't matter. It was still his birthday and it was still raining and cars still drove across slick LA streets just like people still walked down cracked city sidewalks; oblivious. Life moved on. Life continued. And it had nothing to do with him.

A cold feeling settled in his gut, tying it into anxious knots. A shiver ran down his spine unbidden by the temperature of the room. A sigh left his parted lips and he could _just_ hear the faint clicking of the wall clock behind him _tick-tick-ticking_ away over the sound of the rain. His head felt like it was filled with cotton and his mouth tasted like ass and _really_ in the grand scheme of things he figured this was probably about as good of a morning as he could expect for today. Not that that made it any better. Los Angeles may have been the City of Angels, but there would be none flying here. Of that Ozzie was certain.

He opened his eyes.

A glance at the clock told him it was a quarter to eight. Ozzie released a breath, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. He was going to need to get up soon if he didn't want Toni to do it for him. Actually, it was a bit surprising that his Aunt hadn't already. Ozzie dragged a hand over his face, knee bent towards the ceiling, the blankets bunching themselves around his feet. He'd rather not explain why he was out of cigarettes again to her.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he got out of his bed, blinking blearily at his surroundings as he blindly felt for the glasses he'd left on the bedside table. He slipped them on his face when he found them, the dark gray sweats he'd worn to bed riding low on his hips when he stretched.

The room didn't look much different in the light. It was familiar, if not moderately subdued. A little messier. Its lines were a harsher where shadows receded back into their corners, the gray film that seemed to permeate everything spreading across their surfaces. The wall was littered with posters. On the floor, there were a few comics, the rest stacked in alphabetical order on the top three shelves of the bookshelf beside his desk. The last two levels housed his CD's and DVD's. On his desk sat his laptop and the turntable he used for his mixes, his headphones perched on the back of his chair. A spare X-Box controller sat on one of the two beanbags in front of the T.V mounted on his wall across from the lone window in the room.

He crossed over to it, kicking an empty cigarette carton under his bed on the way. There were a few crushed soda cans piled by the windowsill and a couple more by the foot of the bench. Dirty clothes were strewn haphazardly over the floor: a shirt here, a pair of boxers there, a couple of pants draped over the hamper in his room.

Ozzie reached the bench and picked up his phone, tapping the screen open with a yawn. There were no new messages. Not very surprising considering the only people he really talked to were James, Toni and kinda-sorta Clint. He scratched his chin, pulling up the message from James again: _I'll C U @ 5_.

Ozzie clicked his tongue, a curse mumbled under his breath before he tapped his phone closed. There wouldn't be much hope in changing James' mind, he knew—it was Saturday _and_ his birthday and James was a well-meaning dick that wanted Ozzie to get out more so—fuck it. He'd deal with it later. He dropped his phone back on the bench and walked out the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The hallway was tight and narrow, no windows, just a lone lightbulb flickering yellow in the near dark halfway down. It had that old house smell, slightly musty and stale, like not enough air passed through it. It was fitting. This part of the apartment wasn't a big fan of being remembered, it was more like a tomb, lined with dusty pictures on the walls—little forgotten mementos of a family that once was—the hardwood floors old and cold underfoot. Ozzie was grateful for the lack of light.

A staircase led down at the end of the hallway and he took the steps one at a time, stifling another barely-awake yawn with the back of his hand. At the bottom the sound of his Aunt's voice made him pause.

"—ing about an extension," she was saying and Ozzie blinked, a few mere inches between himself and the door. His hand rested on the knob, his Aunt's muffled voice coming in from behind it. She had probably been on her way to wake him up. He bit his lip, flexing his fingers against cool metal and about to step back when she continued.

"Yes, well I know the payment is late, but I'd talked to a uhm," Ozzie heard the sound of rustling paper, "Susan, last Sunday. She was—Yes, Susan. Uh-huh. No, I don't have her last name— She was supposed to call me back— Uh-huh. Nothing there then?" A sigh. "So, does that mean it was denied or what? Tell me something here. Look, it just needs to be until Wednesday, I'll have the money—Fine. Fine," there was another rustling noise, "Okay. So, that's it then. Thank you." Toni let out another breath. "No cell-phones until Wednesday. _Fucking assholes."_ She grumbled and pulled open the door. Ozzie stumbled out of it.

"Ozzie." She blinked down at him, steadying him with one arm, cell-phone still gripped in her free hand. Her hair was styled naturally in a tasteful but simple afro, a bright yellow scarf wrapped around the base of it. She was dark like chocolate and looked very little like Ozzie's dad, her brother, he knew. The only thing they'd had in common were their eyes. They had been a rich warm brown like caramel.

"Mmm," he licked his lips, humming noncommittally, his gaze trained on the peeling wallpaper by the artificial fica in the corner. "Mornin'."

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "Happy... Birthday...," she crossed her arms, the fabric of her white crop top bunching in the shoulders. She may have been pushing forty but she didn't give a fuck. "how long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," he shifted on the balls of his feet and quietly cleared his throat. "Was... jus' coming down."

Hand on her hip. "Uh-huh." She raised one of perfectly arched brows. Full burgundy lips pursed in the universal expression of _'I-smell-bull-fucking-shit'_. "Sure."

"Yeah," Ozzie nodded and licked his lips. "'m just gonna," he pointed vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.

"You do that," Ozzie nodded, slipping his boney body between Toni and the rest of the hallway. She closed the door behind him. "Oh," she said, "and when you're done we're going to that little café off Westwood you like _. Le Chateau du Pain_. I'll close the bookstore for the day."

Ozzie tensed, "Really don't hafta do that Tones," he said. "Kinda just feel like staying in. Why don't you just make me like waffles."

Toni smiled and there was nothing pleasant about. "Now that's not much of a breakfast for the birthday boy," she drummed her nails against her forearm where they were crossed over her chest. "And stop mumbling, no one can understand you like that."

"S'cool," he shrugged, "not feeling very festive anyway. Let's jus—"

"We're _going_ Ozzie," she said, hard edged and final, cutting him off with no room to debate. Ozzie flinched, gripping the doorframe to the bathroom between rigid fingers. Toni sighed. "It will be fun," she said in a softer tone.

_Don't be selfish._

"Okay, Toni," Ozzie nodded, voice tight. He heard his aunt step forward, her jewelry knocking together as she reached out a hand, lightly touching his arm.

"Oz, I—" She began.

He jerked back. "I said _okay,_ Toni," his eyes flicked up in time to catch the wounded look Toni gave him through the mirror, chilling his veins like a block of ice in the middle of the Antarctic sea. _You put that look there. Just like with—_ He looked back down quickly. "Isn't that enough?" He continued softly. Desperately. He was starting to hear their voices, vague intonations in the back of his mind. He could smell that faint flowery aroma that would always cling to the fabric of—

Ozzie steeled his face, expression going dull and apathetic. Silent and stiff he closed the door behind him, effectively shutting out whatever else Toni would have said. He felt like he was floating. Or maybe drowning was more appropriate.

_"It'll be fun Guddu."_

He could feel the weight of his bracelet against his wrist, hear it faintly jingling behind the roaring in his ears.

_"We're going."_

_All your fault. All your fault. Why didn't you listen to them? You were so selfish. It was a trip to Italy. Venice. You'd always wanted to go there. But James—No you only thought about yourself. Didn't think about how your choice would affect others. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. It should've been you instead—_

Fist in his mouth, seeing double, Ozzie stumbled forward, simultaneously in the small tight bathroom that barely fit one person and somewhere else. The lights were off but he wanted it that way. Didn't want to the light. Felt shrouded and protected in the dark gray gloom of a cloudy LA sky.

_If you were a better son. If you were a better friend. If you loved them more—_

His vision was blurry, his breathing a ragged choking thing. He fumbled with the shower head, turning it, twisting it, body shaking like a leaf. He felt sick. Couldn't get enough air. His fist hurt, the copper tang of blood filling his mouth and oh _fuck_ —

_Pathetic. Waste of space. Look at you. Just look in the—no don't look, don't see—_

The bathroom was filling with steam now and Ozzie jumped in, sweatpants soaked through in an instant, the skin of his chest turning an angry red. He cried out, falling to his knees under the spray, tucking his head between them.

_"Okay,_ _Guddu_ _, it's your birthday."_

Ozzie wept.


	7. R E M E M B E R I N G : [Meeting Dr. Nelson]

_**As far as crap situations went, this didn't even scratch his top ten.** _ _The office was small--_ _homey_ _\--he thought, with a black leather couch and one of those fake granite tiled floors that seemed totally random in patterning but still managed to appear uniform. He looked out the window. The office was set on a beach side hill, far enough away from the shore that the tiny silhouettes of people looked like the set of one of those derisively happy commercials on T.V. Welcome to Santa Monica, it would say, California's most celebrated beach city. He imagined he could hear the waves crashing in the distance and maybe he did, he vaguely remembered spying a set of small speakers embedded in the corners where the walls met the ceiling._

_"--ah. Aza--"_

_As far as crap situations went, this didn't even scratch his top ten but--_

_"Ozzie," Ozzie murmured, looking down at his hands. His fingers rested on his lap, shifting nervously over themselves, his voice a low rasp that grated on his ears. He cleared his throat. "Don't call me, A--Aza--," he grimaced, choking around the name, "Don't call me that," he settled on, "I don't like it."_

Damn did it suck.

_"Okay," Dr. Nelson conceded, pen tapping lightly against his yellow memo pad, "Ozzie then." Ozzie watched him scribble something down. He'd bet his entire collection of Young Avengers comics that it was something along the lines of:_

_**Given Name: A*****h**_ **Blue**

 

_P_ _**referred Name: Ozzie** _

 

_**Notes: Has a distinct aversion to given name A*****h. Subject is certifiably insane.** _

  
_Well maybe minus the last part._

_"Do you know why you're here?" Dr. Nelson asked, pen poised over the paper. They'd already gone over those tedious first day questions. Do you have trouble sleeping?_ __Yes._ _ _Have you ever thought about killing yourself? Pause._ __No._ _ _Do you feel stressed?_ __Yes. No. Yes. Yes._ _ __**Yes** _ _

_Ozzie licked his lips and nodded, his glasses shifting down his nose. "I-It was my idea."_

_"Your guardian said something about you not talking for three days?" The doctor began writing something else down. He looked back up at Ozzie who'd somehow managed to stay in the same position for the past thirty minutes. "Is it true? Why don't we start with that?"_

Not talking. Not moving. Not eating. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

_Ozzie nodded again. "Yes."_

_"Do you know what brought this on?"_

_Stifling tears with his fist. Dreading sleep. The feeling of being watched. Seeing shadows where there are none._ Toomuchtoomuch. His mind's numb. Blank. EmptyEmptyEmpty. Blessedly empty.

_Ozzie shook his head. "No." He whispered. His fingers circled themselves faster._

_"No?" Ozzie watched Dr. Nelson raise an eyebrow._

_"No."_

_The doctor stared. Ozzie went rigid, thumbs pointing stiffly upwards. It wasn't intimidating. Not exactly. It was hard to be intimidated by a man that was going on sixty and a good head shorter than he was. No. It was something else. The way he stared at Ozzie was..._ __unnerving._ _ _The way it seemed like he had all of Dr. Nelson's attention. It was_ __weird_ _ _. No one looked at anyone that intently._

_Well besides Dr. Nelson apparently._

_"You tell me," Ozzie countered. "Isn't that what you're here for? To help me figure it out?"_

_"Interesting choice of words, Ozzie."_

_Ozzie shifted minutely in his seat. "What do you mean?"_

_The doctor seemed to ponder this for a second before shaking his head. "Never mind, ignore that, okay?"_

_"Okay?" Ozzie frowned._

_Dr. Nelson nodded and wrote a few more things down on his notepad. "Yes, okay."_

_"I--" Ozzie's throat felt dry, "I am very confused," he paused, "and can you stop saying 'okay'? It's...weird as_ __shit_ _ _." He mumbled._

_"And you finally looked up."_

_Ozzie blinked, at last pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "O..kay..." He said slowly._

_The doctor offered him a small smile. "Indeed." He turned to a new page on his yellow memo pad. "So tell me Ozzie, you don't know why you decided to stop talking, but maybe you can tell me why it persisted."_

_"It was easier." Ozzie said with a shrug._

_"Easier how?"_

_"Just--" He scrunched his brow, "I don't know, it just was. Easier. Like--_ __Fuck_ _ _\-- Sorry, but" Ozzie worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his fingers beginning to twist themselves in the fabric of his too large sweater as he took a breath. "Like. I'd given up I guess. I don't know. I just wanted to turn everything_ __off_ _ _. At least for a little while. Easier that way."_

_"And why had you_ __'given up_ _ _'?"_

_"It's complicated."_

_"We have time."_

Ten minutes you mean.

_Ozzie scratched the side of his neck and shook his head. "I don't know if I have an answer that'd make any sense."_

_"The_ _undoctored_ _response is generally the best, I've found." The doctor sat patiently in his wheelchair. "At least for finding the truth. In other situations well--" he shrugged, "I'm sure you're aware of the consequences."_

_"That was decidedly morbid."_

_"Sorry if I offended."_

_"Nah it's fine, it's true," Ozzie rubbed his nose, "I, uh, had this girlfriend once. Didn't end well. My--" he let out a watery laugh, "my d-dad, he never really liked her. Said I shouldn't trust her and shit. He was right."_

_"What happened?"_

_"Restraining order," He worried a loose string on the sleeve of his sweater. "Said I was a stalker." He mumbled._

_"Were you?"_

_"No!" Ozzie shook his head vehemently. "I didn't, wouldn't, hadn't. It's--I--it's--"_

_"Complicated?"_

No, I just see the past sometimes when I touch things. Totally normal.

_"Yeah. Complicated." His finger tapped restlessly against his thigh as Dr. Nelson continued scribbling notes down in his_ _memopad_ _. Ozzie frowned. That_ __fucking_ _ _memo pad._

**_Subject_ ** _**Patient Zero (AKA Ozzie *****):** _

 

_**-Obvious signs of Anxiety (No duh). Has a near constant need to be in motion, touching, tapping, tense, etc.** _

 

_**-Potentially paranoid.** _

 

**_-_** ** _Observe: Subject Patient shows s_** ** _igns of sleep_** ** _deprivation ie dark circles. Will note any further change in mood and physical appearance in future sessions._**

 

**_-_ ** **_Possible trauma involving parental figures_ ** **_? (No they're just dead you ass)_ **

  
_Ozzie snorted derisively._

_"Is there a problem Ozzie?" The doctor asked,_

_"No," he clenched his hands in his lap._

_"Am I making you uncomfortable? You're grimacing."_

_Ozzie looked away, staring dutifully at his fists._ __Don't talk about it. Don't talk about it. Don't talk about it._ _ _"No."_

_"Are you done for today?"_

_Ozzie looked up at him quizzically._

_"Done talking?" He elaborated._

_A pause. "Yes."_

_Dr. Nelson sighed. "Would you like to schedule another session then?"_

_Ozzie shrugged. "Sure." He mumbled._

_"Same time next week?"_

_Ozzie nodded._

_The doctor reached over to the shelf--_ __metal, wired, IKEA bought_ _ _\--beside him and pulled a different notebook from the neatly arranged stack. Unlike the memo pad, this one was thick--_ __probably a calendar_ _ _\--with the frayed edged air of_ _everday_ _use. Ozzie watched Dr. Nelson write down the appointment time before pulling out a small appointment card and doing the same on its blank face. He handed the card over to Ozzie._

_**Murphy Nelson,** _ _**PsyD** _

  
_It read._

_**Appointment for Mar 18 @ 1:30pm** _

  
_"Well then," Dr. Nelson said, hands on the brakes of his wheelchair, "it was nice to meet you Ozzie." He stuck out his right hand and Ozzie gingerly shook it while getting to his feet. "Remember if there's anything urgent that you need to talk to me about or you just need to see me sooner, feel free to call."_

_**Paraphrase: In case of wrist cutting emergency dial 911. In case of everyday moodiness hit me up.** _

  
_"Okay." Ozzie reached for the hood of his sweater and pulled it over his head, "is that all or...?" He trailed off, bouncing awkwardly on the balls of his feet._

_"That's all." The doctor grinned wryly._

_"I'm." He pointed to the doorway. "I'm just gonna--uh--go," Ozzie popped his lips, "yeah. Bye."_


	8. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [3]

  
②⓪①⑤ 

 _ **Le Château Du Pain**_ **was a quaint little café tucked in a smallish corner of** the Westwood Village and set on a strange triangular 'island' that seemed to stand stagnantly solid between the flow of its surrounding streets. Despite being open twenty-four hours, it wasn't the most well-known place in Los Angeles; most of its patrons came from the sleep deprived students at the university a few streets over.

 _Le Château_ didn't have much to boast for. The view wasn't spectacular, only concrete sidewalks with tall glass and cement structures reaching towards the sky like stubby metal fingers to see. The façade could use another coat of paint, but it smelled of freshly baked bread and the usually blaring sound of traffic was nothing more than a dull hum in the background. Tinny pop music whispered through tiny hand-sized speakers in the corners of the room, the warm pastel green colour of the walls just as soothing as the abstract art hanging from them. And, of course, the bread was to die for. Though Ozzie, found he couldn't stomach much of anything.

There was a half-eaten croissant on the plate in front of him—cooling chocolate the same shade as his Aunt's skin oozing from its middle—and across from him Toni picked up her tea-cup, swirling the contents a moment before taking another small lukewarm sip. The bell of the door jingled behind her, but she ignored it in favor of reading the newspaper, a day-old addition of the LA Times, she'd brought over to the table after she'd placed their orders. Ozzie, toyed with the bread's flaky crust a moment longer before pushing it to the side and staring out the window.

It was a typical Saturday out there, albeit a wet one. Instead of short shorts and tank tops there were blue and gold umbrellas dotting the streets like little pockets of sky. A couple walked past hand in hand while a child skipped ahead of their parents, splashing gleefully in puddles. He turned away, taking a sip of his coffee. Toni, turned the page of her newspaper, and broke off a piece of her garlic baguette, popping it into her mouth.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She asked casually. "Getting out of the house."

Ozzie drummed his fingers against the edge of the table. "Sure Toni, s'nice, I guess." His phone pinged with an incoming message from SnapChat, "got free wi-fi at least. Den/Den, that."

"I never understood why you started saying that," Toni said, setting the newspaper down and settling her gaze on Ozzie as he tapped at his phone. The snap was from James: _'What did the fox say?'_ It read, a picture of him eating cereal, shirtless and sleep rumpled was attached. The focus of the snap though was James' slippers, which were shaped like sleeping foxes and resting in the foreground on a coffee table. "dehn-ah-dehn."

Ozzie snorted, placing his phone in his lap before sticking his tongue out at the camera and flipping it the bird _. 'Give James his phone back Clint.'_ He hit send, not bothering with a filter. He placed the phone back on the table and cracked his neck, shrugging at Toni.

"It's like ten out of ten, but cooler: Den/Den." He said, pushing his clear-framed glasses up his nose and taking another swig from his coffee mug. It was a rich, relatively dark brew, spiced lightly with something sharp, cinnamon probably, and made smooth with a bit of cream and sugar.

Toni hummed noncommittally. "So," she began, "you'll be going out with James tonight? Have a 'bro night'?" She used finger quotes at the end of her sentence.

"I guess." Ozzie's phone pinged again and he opened the message. This one was of a disgruntled Clint, his hazel eyes narrowed to slits, a caramel hand stroking a small bundle of squirming fur. _'Fuck you birthday boy. How'd you know?'_ It read.

Ozzie snapped a picture of his croissant and typed: _'Because you're a fucking meme.'_ "Clint's coming too, I think."

"Ah," Toni chewed thoughtfully on another mouthful of her baguette before reaching over and stealing a piece of Ozzie's croissant. He slapped her hand away, "he's the party boy with the crooked teeth, yes?"

Another ping. _'I am not.'_

Ozzie rolled his eyes. _'You named your cat Taco.'_ "Yeah?" He said, distracted.

"Mmm," Toni drained the rest of her tea, stacking the cup on top of her empty plate when she was done. "I don't like him."

"I know." He said. "He's really not that bad though," Ozzie frowned, biting his lip in thought, "just intense."

" _'Intense'_." Toni shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's one way of putting it." Ozzie forced himself not to say anything else, shoving a piece of chocolate croissant in his mouth instead. "How did they meet anyway?"

Ozzie shrugged. "The story's always changing. Just know he drives a Porche and loves memes."

"Lovely," Toni deadpanned. "Don't let him pressure you into anything. We just got your meds balanced again."

Ozzie frowned. "He's not going to drug me Toni, and 'm not an idiot either."

"After last time—"

Ozzie shook his head. "He didn't know Toni. Not his fault. James decked 'im for it anyway."

Toni scoffed. "And you wonder why I worry about you."

"You're allowed to."

The two lapsed back into silence and Ozzie finished his coffee. Ozzie managed to finish half his croissant, sporadically Snapping Clint and James before Toni spoke again.

"So, are we going to talk about it? What happened this morning?" Toni had started working on the crossword in the back of the newspaper, but she stopped to watch how he'd react. Her pencil hovered in the air above the paper. She raised a brow.

"I'm fine," Ozzie mumbled.

"You had a panic attack Ozzie," she set the pencil down, "we're supposed to talk about them."

"I've had them before."

"Ozzie—"

Ozzie jerked his head at their surroundings. "Are we really going to talk about this here?" There weren't that many people inside the café—thankfully—just a half-asleep barista by the counter and a drab woman in black sitting at a corner table by the innermost wall of the building. Still, it was the principle of the thing. Ozzie was hyper aware of how public a place like this was.

"Would you talk about it later?" Toni asked.

Ozzie didn't have an answer for that.

"Didn't think so," She clasped her hands in front of her, "so you either talk to me or I can call Dr. Nelson."

"We can't afford another appointment right now if you can't pay the phone bill."

"Let the grown-ups worry about that huh?"

Ozzie glared. "That's low."

"Are you going to talk?"

Ozzie let out a breath, finishing the last of his coffee before speaking. "You can finish this," he said, wincing and pushing his plate over towards his aunt. She took it and began nibbling on the last of the croissant. She raised her eyebrow. Ozzie cleared his throat.

"You reminded me of mom." He said.

Toni paused, then swallowed. "What did I do?"

"You didn't... _do_...anything," Ozzie bit his lip, wringing his hands in his lap. "S'gonna sound stupid. It was nothing. You know I get edgy this time of year anyway."

"Ozzie, honey, it's not going to be stupid."

" _'It'll be fun'_ ," he whispered, "that's what triggered it. Pretty much the last thing she said."

"I'm sorry, Ozzie."

He shook his head, "S'fine, but," he coughed, "can we please go now? Sorta tired of whiny teeny boppers."

Toni chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "Yeah," she smiled, and nudged his foot with her boot clad feet. "Is there anything you want to do?"

He hummed to himself. "Could go for a movie right 'bout now."

Toni rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, the new Avengers one."

"It has Wanda," he defended, "and I've only seen it twice."

"'Only twice'," Toni sighed exasperatedly. "Fine. If the birthday boy insists."

Ozzie grinned, there and gone in a blink. "It's gonna be bad-ass, Tones."

"Bad-ass my ass," Toni grumbled, she started packing up her things, "and language Ozzie." She said belatedly.

Ozzie laughed.


	9. R E M E M B E R I N G : ②⓪①③  [Tomorrow]

②⓪①③

**_Later, they'd tell him that it was James who'd found him._ ** _Later, James would tell the police that it was merely a coincidence that he'd happened by again in the first place; he'd forgotten something, a hat maybe, didn't really seem that important to remember next to everything else, but he did and that's when he'd seen him. Ozzie. His best friend. Staring at nothing. Sitting in a dark pool of his parent's blood._

_The barf stain from that moment was still there too._

_Later, when all was said and done and James started camping out in Ozzie's room like some sort of wayward sentinel, scared and belligerent and determined, James would tell him—really the silence around him—that it wasn't the images that stuck with him. Not the sight of the corpses or whether the lights were on or off. It was the blood. The scent of it. The feel of it beneath his nails. How it sounded when he'd stepped in it, trying to calm Ozzie down, trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself when the_ _EMT's_ _inevitably had to sedate him. It didn't matter what he did, the blood always clung to him._

_Later, Ozzie would feel relieved. He wasn't in this alone. James got it, if only a little._

_Later, he'd feel guilt._

_Later, still there would be anger. Anger at James for putting this thing behind himself so easily and moving on. Anger at Toni for not being able to understand. Anger at himself for feeling that way._

_Right now, though, with his memories fuzzy and a strange, blood curdling sort of scream ringing in his ears, Ozzie was glad he felt nothing at all; it was more than he could hope for in truth. He closed his eyes, vaguely registering the hands on his body and letting that all-consuming blankness edging in the back of his mind pull him under._

*******

Fear. It forces him to keep moving. To keep running.

And he is. Running. Ozzie is not entirely sure why or from what, but that doesn't change the fact that he's afraid. It doesn't change the fact that he can feel the very real anxiety crawling in the pit of his stomach. It doesn't change the fact that the hair on the back of his neck is standing on end.

His arms saw through the air and he gasps for breath through dry, chapped lips. He has to resist the urge to look behind him, scared of not knowing and scared of knowing what's chasing him. Paradox. Duplicity. It's the most hated conundrum of the human condition in Ozzie's humble opinion—an expected if not disappointing human inconsistency.

Ozzie's legs pump in time with his pounding pulse. His breath comes in short quick bursts that leave his mouth like smoking tendrils. It mirrors the fog curling around his waist and legs like ghostly tentacles. The sensation is wet and slippery against his exposed skin—a little thick—a bit like running through molasses—

Only then those ghostly tentacles aren't so ghostly. Suddenly they're ghastly. They're ghastly and they're solid and they're very, very real and it's terrifying. They—it—catches him. They grab Ozzie. Hold him in place. Drag him down. The air is knocked from Ozzie's throat. He claws at the ground, nails leaving deep grooves in the dirt around him. He's struggling against it. But the hold only gets tighter. Only gets more painful. And _—_

The fog covers his body—

Burning—

Turning—

Trying to scream—

_***_

_Time passed slowly. Or maybe it was quickly. If he thought about it more he'd realize that time flowed fluidly. When he was awake, he felt like he was asleep, everything fuzzy and unfocused, voices and sounds and sights whisking over his head like saucers, too quick to really process. But that was preferred. Ozzie liked that, liked the fuzz and static over his mind when he was awake. It was nice. Made him empty and filled the dark parts of his mind with cotton, sponging away the things he didn't want to see. The things he didn't want to remember._

_But it was only a reprieve. At night, he remembered. At night, when his body finally succumbed to sleep, everything came bubbling to the surface—a tidal wave of tar and oil and it made him want to burn. He wanted to burn like a pyre. Wanted the pain of Joan of Arc. The witches of Salem. He wanted fire and the scent of ash, the jeers of bigots in his ears. He wanted to rise from the embers, a phoenix, reborn whole and strong and perfect._

_He'd light his insides on fire if he could have that for even a moment._

_It didn't happen._

_Of course, it didn't. Why expect anything else? His mind was no longer his own, no longer his to control, it wasn't his refuge, it was a stranger's and he was taking refuge in a stranger's house._

_The stranger didn't like him much at all._

_At night, he had no escape and that's when the stranger would come to play, bringing up images of blood and screams—of whisper thin_ 'Guddu's' _thrown from bloodied lips. Night was the time he saw the Monster, the beast with eyes like a cat and a head like a snake's. He could hear its voice, feel that rasping laughter and see that ghastly not-smile full of teeth and filled with malice. Night was the time he wished he was awake. But when he was awake he wished he was asleep. Limbo. He was in constant flux, neither here nor there._

_It took three days for the static to finally leave his brain, but even then, he didn't say anything. He just stared at the small calendar sitting next to his hospital bed and listened to the incessant beeping of the machines attached to him. James was a constant fixture by his side. His face looked pinched, skin washed out and pale in a way Ozzie had never seen, but he was there, sometimes a comforting hand over his own, sometimes a warm chest flush against his back._

_He didn't see much of Toni in that time. He figured she was busy getting everything squared away and probably keeping the police from constantly knocking on his door._

_Because his parents were dead. Murdered in front of him._

Fuck.

_He felt James tighten his grip around his waist._

_"Go back to sleep, Oz," he whispered, shifting so his head rested mostly on the pillow and not Ozzie's bony shoulder._

_Ozzie opened his mouth—_ I _c_ an't—They're dead—Fuck—Shit—What about your movie? —Shouldn't you be back in L.A— _closed it. A wounded noise left his throat instead, loud and desperate enough to have James man-handle Ozzie into his chest, rubbing his back. He curled around him, a wall between Ozzie and the outside world._

_"It's going to be okay, Ozzie," he said, "it's going to be okay."_

_Ozzie burrowed his face deeper into James' chest. He smelled the days old sweat that clung to him, felt his breath against the hairs of his neck. He wanted to believe him. He really did. But he couldn't, because behind the comfort and the bluster of strength James put on for him was a crack. He saw it every time he looked into James eyes._

_Nothing was going to be okay again._

_Another three days passed with hardly a sound from Ozzie. Toni came by every morning and every evening, but she never spent the night. Ozzie wasn't sure why. Maybe she blamed him for her brother's death. Maybe seeing James wrapped so tightly around him put her off. He didn't know. He didn't really care either._

_(Except he really,_ really _did)_

_A week came and went. James had been forced out halfway through that to get some sleep in a real bed but he'd hardly been gone an hour before he'd had to come rushing back. Ozzie doesn't remember this but he'd apparently flipped his fucking shit. People stopped trying to get rid of James after that though._

_A week and a half later, Ozzie finally spoke._

_It was late, nothing but the glow of a waning moon and the dimmed hall lights peaking underneath the door to outline James' silhouette. He was sitting by the window, the edge opened a crack, chain smoking through a pack of Marlboros. His cellphone rested in his free hand, bouncing against his thigh. His expression was more pinched than usual._

_Ozzie wet his lips, felt the chapped skin under his skin and slowly pushed the air out of his lungs._

_"You need to go back," he rasped._

_James jerked in his seat, dropping his cigarette with a curse and quickly stepping on it with his boot. He picked it up, tossing it into the trashcan he'd dragged to sit next to him. "What?"_

_"You need to go back," Ozzie repeated. His voice went out half way through the sentence and he cleared throat. James got up, pulling a water bottle out of his overnight bag. He placed it on the edge of the bed. Ozzie took a tentative sip._

_"Back where?" James asked with a frown._

_Ozzie set the water bottle down, letting it roll down the hill of legs. "To L.A." He stated plainly._

_"Oz—"_

_"You know I'm right Jay," He looked down, focusing his eyes on the faint glow of James' smart phone. "You have to go back. You can't keep stalling. Your career is too new. They'll kick your ass out of Hollywood if you don't."_

_James let out a breath, raking his hands through the dark curls on top of his head, pacing back and forth. "Dude," he laughed a dry bitter sound, "fuck Hollywood, you—"_

_"I'll—I—" Ozzie wrung his hands in his lap. "You need to worry about you."_

_"And who'll worry 'bout you?"_

_Ozzie shrugged. "I got Toni."_

_James scoffed. "Doesn't feel like it."_

_Ozzie tensed, hunched over himself, shoulders to his ears with nails digging into his palms. His bangs fell over his eyes. "She just lost them too."_

_James stopped pacing, turning to face him, looking, really looking. Ozzie looked back through his periphery, lip worried between his teeth and he could tell the moment everything sunk in for James because he collapsed back in the cheap plastic chair by the window; a puppet with its strings cut. Suddenly he just looked tired. Worn and older than what his eighteen years should._

_James tilted his head back, his skull thunking against the baby blue wall behind him and closed his eyes. He scrubbed his hands over his face, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. A couple minutes passed in silence, Ozzie chewing incessantly at his lip, James with his hands over his face like a prayer._

_"Are you sure, Oz?" He rumbled, voice low and even in the half-light._

_"Honestly?" Ozzie asked, "fuck no."_

_James huffed out a breath, small half smile tugging at his lips. "That makes two of us then."_

_"Peas in a pod, us."_

_"Romanoff and Stark, kicking ass and taking names." James straightened, and leaned forward, arms hanging over the gap of his thighs, sobering as he looked at Ozzie. "This mean you gonna talk to the police now?"_

_Ozzie shrugged, chuckling mirthlessly. "Gonna have to I guess. Fuck."_

_James nodded. "Fuck," he agreed._

_"Ay," Ozzie jerked his head in the direction of the nearly empty pack of Marlboros on the windowsill._

_"Give me a fucking cigarette."_

_James rolled his eyes but tossed the pack of cigarettes over to him. Ozzie tapped the last one out, sticking it between his lips. James walked over with the lighter. Bending over, he lit the tip. Ozzie grunted in thanks, turning his head to blow the smoke away from his friend's face._

_"If anyone asks, I didn't give you that."_

_Ozzie leaned back against his pillow. Nodding, he said, "tomorrow."_

_"Tomorrow." James agreed._

_Ozzie handed the cigarette to James and that was that. Tomorrow._


	10. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [4]

**The door to the mini-mart opened with a faint hiss as Ozzie stepped** inside. Water dripped from the fringes of his clothes and across the bright linoleum floor, the soles of his beat-up converse squeaking over it. His hands were shoved in his pockets, a couple mashed twenties in his closed palms. The feel of his wallet was a solid weight against his fists.

The rain had picked up again after the movie, turning the sky a roiling gray and whipping the wind to and fro between the fronds of the palm trees lining Santa Monica Boulevard. Taking a breath, he loosened his shoulders, walking towards the snack aisle. The shelves were full of chips and colorful looking candies, some hard, some soft; a rainbow of corn syrup and preservatives. His steps squelched obscenely with each one he took. He glanced out a rain splattered window to where Toni's beat up Prius sat waiting by a gas pump _. And people say we're in a drought._

Throwing off his hood, Ozzie took his hands out of his pockets. He rubbed them together, blowing in the space between them. His pants felt clammy and glued to his legs, his shoes like soggy puddles. He really should've brought an umbrella. He looked back down at the chips in front of him. Pringles. Ruffles. A couple different flavors of Lays before getting into those cheap knock-offs with weird cheese bunnies on them. He grimaced at the sight, grabbing a bag of Ruffles, cheddar and sour cream flavored. He looked back up.

There weren't too many people inside the mini-mart. A droopy-eyed acne ridden cashier, early twenties at the most, flipped through a magazine at the register, her neon nails tapping against the counter top. There was a mother and her child, the child pointing at everything in the store going _'what's that?' 'what's that?'_ and, finally, a woman dressed in all black. She stood off to the side, a Brisk in one hand, magazine in the other. Ozzie blinked. Her hijab was wrapped around her head and a shroud was draped around the rest of her. Something about her though, beyond her dress...it was in her stature and build, it reminded him of his mother, of his--

*******

  
_("_ _Ammi_ _!_ _Ammi_ _!" Ozzie called, bounding down the hall towards his parent's room. James had just found the coolest rock ever. It was round and smooth and sorta looked like there was a smiley face etched in the middle. If you squinted. He couldn't wait to show his_ _Ammi_ _! Skidding to a halt, he stopped in the doorway, large smile on his face. "Look at what James found!" He said, thrusting his hand out and holding the rock up for inspection. His_ _Ammi_ _turned, and the smile slowly slid from his face, replaced with a confused sort of frown. She was dressed funny, covered head to toe so that only her warm brown eyes showed._

_She bent forward, taking Ozzie's hands in hers. "Ah!_ _Guddu_ _! What a pretty rock!" She gushed. "Almost looks like it's smiling, no?"_

_Ozzie blinked, tilting his head to the side. He went to pull at the scarf around his mother's head, but she stopped him with a gentle squeeze of his hand. "Where_ _are_ _you going_ _Ammi_ _?" He asked. He didn't understand why she was dressed like that, covered from head to toe when it wasn't even Halloween, but he knew it had to mean something._

_Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she patted the top of his head. "I'm going to see my_ _Ammi_ _and_ _Fafa_ _." She said._

_"Oh," Ozzie said, "can I come?" He'd never met his_ _Ammi's_ _Ammi_ _or_ _Fafa_ _. Only his dad's. When he thought about it, that was decidedly strange. He nodded to himself. "I want to come." He decided._

_His mother laughed, but shook her head. "Oh,_ _Guddu_ _. You can't come." She_ _bopped_ _him on the nose. "You're not old enough."_

_"But-"_

_"No." She said again. And Ozzie crossed his arms over his chest, bottom lip jutting out. His_ _Ammi_ _tutted to herself, wrapping him up in a warm hug. "Don't be sad,_ _Ammi_ _will be back before you know it. Besides if you came along who would keep your_ _Fafa_ _company?"_

_Ozzie hugged her back, burying his face in her heavy dark clothes. He could barely smell the usual lavender scent that clung to his mother through them. "Fine," Ozzie mumbled, "I'll stay."_

_"There's my good boy."_

_She never did bring Ozzie with her. Ozzie figured he'd just never gotten old enough._

_And he never would.)_

*******

  
Ozzie shook his head. The woman in black was staring at a point to the right. He followed her gaze. It was set on a T.V, mounted to a small unobtrusive corner of the wall, the news crackling out through old tinny speakers.

**WEST** **HOLLYWOOD** **SNATCHER** **STRIKES THE NORTH?**

  
The caption read in bold print. It was followed by three pictures. Jacob Davis, an average looking eighteen-year-old boy with an unflattering bowl cut and braces. The next picture was of a girl, Samantha Boveen. It said she was eighteen. A year younger than himself. Sam looked older than that in her picture, though. The image looked like a prom photo. Something yanked off Facebook and taken at least semi-professionally.

Finally, there was Martin Hoover. Sixteen, and probably at least decently popular seeing as his picture was of him and couple guys from what Ozzie assumed was their baseball team. Apparently, they'd all last been seen in Silicon Valley (about eight hours north of L.A) in the area around a popular gay club called Eden - a name that was shared with its WeHo counterpart down here in L.A.. The same name where another wave of kidnappings had taken place not too long ago. Ozzie felt his stomach twist and he looked away.

"It's sad, isn't it?" A voice said from beside him. Ozzie jumped, twisting to look behind him and almost popping the bag of chips open in the process. It was the woman in black. Ozzie shifted on the balls of his feet, gaze darting from her face, where he could just make out the emerald quality of her eyes and back up to an unspecified spot a little to the left of her.

"Uh," he wet his lips, rubbing the back of his head, "yeah," he said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the snack aisle. "It-uh-sucks-you know? What happened to those kids." He finished lamely.

The woman hummed in agreement and Ozzie let out a breath, thinking that was the end of the conversation. He began to make his way towards the cashier, snagging a Snickers bar for Toni on the way. Suddenly the woman spoke again.

"You are thinking of the families. How worried they must be." It wasn't a question.

Ozzie frowned, not turning around this time. "Sure. I mean, who wouldn't?" His hands clenched at his sides. "No one should have to lose someone like that. It _sucks_."

"Most wouldn't care," she continued, "not their problem after all."

Ozzie set his jaw, finally making it to the cashier and placing his items on the counter. The mother and child had just left the mart, heading back towards a white sedan. It was just the three of them in the store now.

"Forty on seven." He mumbled, pulling out the rumpled twenties and a five from his wallet. The cashier drummed her nails on the counter, before sticking a piece of gum in her mouth.

"You want a bag with that?" She drawled, ringing him up.

"No," Ozzie rubbed his thumb over his mouth, glancing back out the window where it was still raining steadily, "actually yes."

She handed him his bag and change and Ozzie nodded his thanks, skirting around the woman in black on his way out. She made no move to stop him, but he could feel her eyes on him. Watching. Following. He shivered. He felt jittery and off balance, his fingers flexing against the brown paper of the bag. He reached the entrance of the mini-mart. The door slid open with that faint ring and he pulled on his hood.

"Be careful, Ozzie."

Ozzie froze and not because of the hand that wrapped suddenly around his arm.

He swallowed. "How do you-" He began.

"Beware limbo," She said, and there was a fire behind her eyes, in her words, behind the faint lilt he could hear colouring her vowels now that he was paying attention. Her grip tightened on him, deceptively strong, and he winced. "Believe me, because I know you _aren't_ like most people."

_Carve your own path._

"Wha-" he started.

"Do you understand?"

He didn't. "Y-yeah." He mumbled, trying to pry her fingers off his bicep.

She looked at him a moment longer and nodded, letting go with a sigh. "Good." She said.

With that last word, she walked out, unscrewing the bottle of Brisk she'd kept gripped in her other hand and flipping her magazine open to a random page with her other. She quickly made her way across the lot and he quickly lost sight of her amidst all the flashing lights and umbrellas. He frowned. Something bothered him about her exit, well besides the creepy psychic shaman treatment. He stepped out a little after her, heading back to Toni's Prius. A drop of rain trailed down his nose.

He stopped.

Blinked.

Looked back up at the sky. A chill ran down his spine.

That's what it was.

_She didn't get wet._


	11. R E M EM B E R I N G : ②⓪①③  [Limits]

  
**_The Starbucks was packed, busy with hungover muscle clad college dudes in tanks_** _and barely coherent nine-to-fivers in freshly pressed suits. Granted, it was also_ _8am_ _on a Monday, so that was a bit of a given. Ozzie moved to stand in line, his hands shoved deep in the confines of his sweatpants. He could feel a couple forgotten candy wrappers and a few tiny balls of lint brushing up against the bony meat of his fingers. The hood to his hoody was as baggy as the rest of it and pulled as far down over his face as possible._

 _There was a lot he could stand. Like waiting in lines or those ugly dark brown sofas that broke up the lines of tables in the_ _café_ _or the bastardized mini cabbages people had the audacity to call Brussel sprouts. He hadn't disowned James when he'd told him that his favorite superhero was the Hulk even though James knew Ozzie hated that guy. He could stand_ _the_ _staring, the constant silent judgement and pity and thinly veiled disgust in the eyes of anyone who saw his face nowadays, but the whispering_...

_That got to be a bit much._

_The hood stayed on. The line moved forward. He studiously avoided looking at the front page of the newspapers stacked on the stand beside him. He knew that they would no doubt have his face plastered all over them._ (It was a near thing though. There was a very big, almost prominent part of him that wanted to see. Wanted to know what they were labeling him today: Victim or Killer? He wondered when the people had stopped viewing him as a person and started seeing him as nothing more than a media sensation to capitalize off of. A thing.) _He was struck with a thought. A feeling more akin to a realization. His life was no longer his own._

 **This must be what James feels like** , _he mused_ , **like a petri dish under a microscope.**

_The Starbucks was noisy. Not...loud perse, but noisy all the same. Loud in a droning sense; a lot of voices speaking in an enclosed space sense. Like a train station. Or maybe a packed theatre. Sort of echoey. It, also smelled like coffee and a little bit like burnt sugar but that wasn't surprising. What Starbucks didn't smell like coffee? Ozzie figured it would be weirder to find one that in fact didn't._

_"Good morning," a bubbly voice said when he reached the front of the queue. Ozzie had to resist the urge to flinch, "what can I get ya' this morning?"_

_"_ _Café_ _Mocha,_ _venti_ _," Ozzie wet his lips. His voice was raspy, low, and sounded like too many cigarettes, "and that." He pointed to the row of chocolate croissant's sitting behind the glass._

_The cashier craned his neck around the display to see what he was pointing at. "The plain one?"_

_**No, the chocolate** _ _. Ozzie took a breath. Bit his lip. Tapped his foot against the sole of his shoe. He could feel the lady next in line practically breathing down his neck. "Sure."_

_"Great!" The bubbly cashier said, ringing him up and taking out a cup,_ _venti_ _sized. He set it to the side, ready to scrawl Ozzie's name over it the moment he finished with the register. "That'll be seven fifty..." he trailed off, clicking open a sharpie pen and holding it poised right above the cup's Starbucks logo._

_"Oz-," Ozzie coughed, glancing behind him. He was taking too long, people were staring, he could feel it. Could see the agitation on their faces. If he took much longer they'd start asking questions and then everyone would know- He took out his wallet, sliding a ten across the counter. "-car," he finished, "Oscar."_

_"Okay, Oscar, would you like your croissant heated?" He handed Ozzie back his change._

_"Uh, yeah," he mumbled, absentmindedly shoving the bills and coins back in the folds of his wallet._

_"Wait over there," the cashier pointed to a clear spot off to the side, it was actually pretty isolated from the rest of_ _café_ _goers. Ozzie frowned. Did that mean he knew? Was he not keeping his head down enough? Was his voice too recognizable? Maybe his clothes-_

_"It'll be a minute."_

_Ozzie blinked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he took a step back. He eased the tension clutched in the hands he'd unconsciously balled into fists. "Course." He said and cleared his throat._

_"Next!" The cashier called, bringing that too bubbly smile back to his face for the next patron. Ozzie moved aside, his shoulders hunched and head down. He walked to an empty spot off to the side. It was between an artificial fern and the bathrooms. All things considered it was a pretty okay spot for him. The noise was dampened a bit in this corner of the_ _café_ _and the burning itching feeling of eyes on the back of his neck lessened some as well._

_That was until a young college aged sorority girl walked out of the bathroom and made eye contact with him._

_The moment was almost comical. There was a moment where neither of them moved; her eyes widened like saucers and Ozzie just stood there with a vaguely horrified expression._ **_Just turn around. Don't say anything. Just ignore her. Break eye contact._ ** _Ozzie took a breath. Slowly broke eye contact. His body turned. With stiff steps, he forced himself to make his way towards the front of the Starbucks._

**_Don't scream._ ** _He silently pleaded._ _**Please don't scream. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a-** _

_She screamed. Ozzie bolted._

_**Victim or Murderer.** _ _Ozzie figured it was probably obvious which category she fell into._

_When Ozzie got back to the hotel he and Toni were staying at she didn't even ask why he was back so soon. She just offered a brief nod in his direction before going back to her phone call. He knew it was probably important but..._

_He felt invisible._

_******* _

  
_He was losing time. Ozzie was pretty sure of it. It wasn't anything drastic. Just small things. He'd look up at the ceiling and it would be noon and he'd look to his side what felt like a moment later and boom. Stars. He'd shrugged it off before. He figured he was just falling asleep, it wasn't really like he had all that much to do but watch T.V but he'd quickly gotten sick of that after discovering every other channel seemed to be talking about him. That was a bit of a turn off._

_So, he slept. Or at least he'd thought so. Until he'd woken up with painted nails and no idea how he'd gotten them in the first place._

***

 

His mind's a blur. He's floating, flying, soaring away and all that grounds him to the Earth is his body alight with unparalleled sensation. Frustration. Greed. He goes with it. Focuses on that. On feeling. He draws his fingers across the clothed skin in front of him, hooks an arm against the neck of the body behind him. People want a show? A smirk graces his lips and it's anything but innocent. He sways. He moves. He's euphoric. He's alive. He's free. He's-

 

***

  
_**Disassociation: The separation of normally related mental processes, resulting in one group functioning independently from the rest, leading in extreme cases to disorders such as multiple personality. Symptoms include mild to severe detachment from surroundings, the inability to recall significant personal memories, and general memory loss as placed in tandem with amnesia**_. _His phone trembled in his hands._ _He was disassociating. Coping really. At least that's what google told him. Ozzie figured he probably wasn't as okay as he thought he was._

_He scrubbed the make-up coated to his skin and tried not to puke._

***

 

"You look stressed." A glass of... something, Ozzie doesn't even know, is placed in front of him, jolting him back into the now. He picks it up without a second glance and knocks it back with barely a wince. Whatever. The cup is real. The dude who gave it to him is real. He's real and a more than welcome distraction.

 

"Rough night?" the dude asks, sounding way more amused than he should be in Ozzie's professional opinion.

 

"I need a cigarette." He grumbles. "And another one of whatever the fuck this is."

 

***

  
_He came back to himself for all of a second. To a cacophony of pulsing lights and crammed bodies. He vaguely registered the sensation of hair against his shoulders and that he was in a dress. It was a semi shear backless thing that clung to every inch of his skin. Then he was drowning again. Put to sleep in his own head._

***

 

Ozzie climbs over the couch, straddling Dude Number Six's waist, and leans back in for another kiss. This one is deeper--more tongue, less clacking and more lip--and Dude Number Six sighs into it, wrapping his arms around the small of Ozzie's back, pulling him closer. Ozzie hums, letting his hips meet Dude Number Six' before possessively snaking a hand around the nape of his neck.

 

"You smell different," Dude Number Six comments off-handedly between kisses, breathless, "muskier."

 

Ozzie tenses. "Mmm," he hums, trailing his lips down the side of Dude Number Six' porcelain neck, nipping and biting sporadically on his way.

 

"St-stop, distracting me," Dude Number Six stutters, threading a hand through Ozzie's hair and giving him more room.

 

"You didn't ask a question," Ozzie murmurs, lips now roaming against Dude Number Six' ear, "you made a statement. Do you need an example? That's a question."

 

Dude Number Six, moves his hand down to grip Ozzie's almost non-existent ass. He gives it a light tap. "You know what I mean you mouthy bitch."

 

"I'm wounded, dickless," he mumbles dryly while running a hand up Dude Number Six' naked torso and twisting a nipple. Hard. "It's your roommate's, by the way."

 

Dude Number Six gasps with a wince, letting go of Ozzie's hair to rub his no doubt red nub. "O-oh." Ozzie feels a sick sense of satisfaction. "Why?"

 

"Why what, Dude?" Ozzie smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

 

"Why are you wearing her shirt, asshole?"

 

The teen tenses again. Dude Number Six frowns and sits up. "Did something happen?" Ozzie blinks.

 

A pause, then--

 

"No."

 

"Are you okay?" Dude Number Six tries running his hands up and down Ozzie's sides.

 

Ozzie sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm fine," Ozzie says and looks down at Dude Number Six with hooded, hungry eyes. Ozzie's hand reaches between them, coiling around the hem of Goldie the majestic booty shorts.

 

"Do you really want to talk about your roommate right now?" Ozzie's voice is light and teasing.

 

Dude Number Six smacks him on the ass. "Stop that."

 

Ozzie blinks. Then glares. Then goes blank as a piece of slate. "Stop what?"

 

"You're trying to distract me with your body," Dude Number Six hisses.

 

Ozzie rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says, leaning down to bite the unmarked side of Dude Number Six' neck, "is it working?"

 

"Yes! No! Fuck! Just take off the damn shirt."

 

"Will you drop it if I do?"

 

Dude Number Six groans, biting his lip, but nods. If Ozzie doesn't want to talk then he isn't. "For now."

 

"Tolerable," Ozzie takes off the shirt, tossing it blindly to the floor, "now can we continue? I'd really rather talk about what I was thinking over there." He grabs the front of Dude Number Six' shorts.

 

***

  
_Ozzie woke up in a shower. Naked. Sore. Sticky. There were bruises on his arms and when he brushed his fingers over his neck it twinged. So probably hickeys too. His mouth felt gummy and his jaw ached more than that one time he'd had a cavity when he was eleven._

_Shakily he got to his feet. He had no idea where he was. No idea where his things were. His head pounded like crazy and-_

Francis makes it...more. Francis is the one that moves their hands like a tease, raises an eyebrow like a challenge to anyone who catches his--their eye. It's Francis that cares about EDM and make-up and ridiculously garish and impractical fur coats. Francis adds a sway to their hips that's downright obscene with the way it draws attention to their tightly leather clad ass and Ozzie feels-Francis feels-They feel-What exactly?

The smile on his lips feels real-

The pounding in his chest feels real-

The wild energy urging him farther better faster stronger feels real-

A hand on their shoulder. "Ozzie."

Ozzie freezes, lurching backwards in his mind, one hand on the wheel the other out the metaphorical door-

Francis is not Ozzie. Francis is his own person and he is not afraid. He turns, drags their eyes obviously over the man (young adult, post adolescent) in front of them. His hair is black like Francis' but curly instead of straight and not streaked with flamboyant neon highlights like their own. Ozzie knows this man-

But Francis, Francis does not. Or he isn't supposed to, so he raises an eyebrow and he can see the moment the young man registers the subtle differences that make him Francis and not Ozzie- Nothing overt. At the end of the day their body is the same, yet the eyes, the curve of their lips. That is different. Radically different-

Memories. Details. Sensations. Words like "best-friend" and "family". Pale skin he (Francis-Ozzie-no Francis) knows will bruise if you punch him on the shoulder. A steadying grip just a shade too hard. Warmth. The smell of weed and heat and browning leaves--

Francis winces and closes his eyes, the overly saccharine smile on his lips twisting into a grimace.

"Ozzie-" James says again, his hands (familiar comforting home-) resting firmly on Francis' shoulders, "Where've you been? Toni-I've-we've all been worried about you, ever since you uh," James rubs the back of his neck looking uncomfortable and worried at the same time, "ran off."

(im sorry i didnt mean to it was too much is too much i cant im sorry im sorry im sorry i-)

Ozzie opens his mouth and Francis snaps it shut before anything embarrassingly sentimental and horribly out of character can come out. Francis coughs; feigning confusion, he says. "Sorry to disappoint handsome," he makes his smirk lascivious, and his voice is lightly accented with something bordering on French. "but I'm not your guy. Really is a shame though, you're cute."

James blinks. Squints his eyes. Blinks again. Backs up a step and good, this is what he wanted, what he needed. He needs James to back off, to back off before-

"Bullshit."

Francis' smirk drops. He opens his mouth to snap something else back, white fur coat hanging around his shoulders. He doesn't care who this boy is to Ozzie, he's nothing to him. Francis is courage personified to the point of stupidity. No one could force him to back down so why would this boy-

(a mantra of James James James in the back of my mind it pounds like a drum and I cringe I need I need I need-)

Francis gasps. Stumbles forward as a searing pain ratchets through his skull. It feels like his mind is breaking, splitting, melting into two. Into three. Because he can feel that other, that voice guiding Francis to the surface and Ozzie to the depths and it's desperate.

He feels it. He feels it clinging to the edges of both their psyches--

and he knows what's going to happen even before he slips to the ground.

He knows what's going to happen when he sees the worried faces in front of him. He knows when he hears the music stop and the lights turn on and all he can hear is a distant ringing. His screaming. He knows...

Everything goes black, his body falling limp into James' solid grip.


	12. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [5]

_We found love in a hopeless place._  
_We found love in a hopeless place._  
_We found love in a hopeless place._  
_We found love in a hopeless place_.

  
**Rihanna's raspy warble blared through the radio's crappy speakers** as Ozzie pulled his bare feet up onto his seat. He wiggled them, feeling the worn leather shift underneath his toes. They were driving back down Santa Monica Boulevard, passing Sawtelle and the Little Asia district that was filled with oriental cuisine and shops full of foreign knick-knacks. The tinny whine of _We Found Love_ filled the car with mindless noise, almost drowning out the sound of water splashing up against the sides of its chrome exterior.

The sky was still grayed out but now, at least, it was a little less noticeable, what with the sun beginning to set behind the clouds. Drops of rain splattered against the windshield. They slithered across it only to be wiped away by the wipers and replaced with more rain a second later. It had a funny effect on the lights around him; they seemed to drag through the air, trailing behind their vehicles and across the dimming sky next to the neon signs of all the shops they passed.

_(Though, maybe not. Maybe it was just in his head. Or maybe it was just because he was squinting. That was probably possible too he guessed.)_

The world whizzed by and Ozzie watched it from his seat, his head against the cold glass of the passenger window. He'd stripped off his soaked hoody the moment he'd gotten back in the Prius, leaving himself in a thin albeit slightly less damp shirt and soggy sweatpants. Toni sat next to him nodding along to the electric stutter of the music coming from the radio. Her fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel. He shivered.

_Shine a light through an open door._  
_Love and life I will divide._  
_Turn away 'cause I need you more._

  
Ozzie sunk farther back in his seat, stretching one gangly arm out to turn the heater up. He rubbed his arms with the palms of his hands before wrapping them around his waist with a grimace. Cold fabric clung to his skin. The heat felt good though. Toni shot him a quick glance. "I hate rain," Ozzie said.

"You should have brought an umbrella then," Toni replied evenly.

Ozzie leveled her with the driest look possible. "Thank you. _So_ much. Real helpful. Seriously."

Toni rolled her eyes before reaching over the console and patting his knee. "Don't be a baby, we're almost home."

"'M not. Just don't like the rain." _Besides_ _you're only saying that 'cause you weren't the one soaked to hell_.

"Uh-huh," Toni brought her hand back to the wheel, "then stop pouting, you're nineteen years old Ozzie. Act like it."

He glared instead.

"That's better."

_We found love in a hopeless place._  
_We found love in a hopeless place._  
_We found love in a hopeless place._  
_We found love in a hopeless place_.

  
The song ended with a drop that sounded so generic it had Ozzie's bleeding heart crying at the blatant lack of creativity. _That definitely wasn't what Calvin had in mind._ He mused with a wince. Judgmental? Probably. Still, he could've totally done better. You know, if he ever put more than one remix on YouTube a month.

 _Baby steps._ Dr. Nelson was always going on about balance and positive reinforcement. And...other shit. It helped. Most of the time. Sometimes.

Sorta.

 _"That was the_ _Sikk_ _Mix with special guest DJ Shade!"_ The radio personality, a way too peppy sounding male that Ozzie didn't know the name of, said through the radio's speakers. _"It's five-o-clock which means it's time for me to get off the air, but before I go let's give it up one more time for our no shame no gain pink haired wonder DJ Shade!"_ There was the sound of pre-recorded applause. _"Hit him up tonight starting at nine-o'clock at-,"_ Ozzie wrinkled his nose and made the executive decision to change the station. It landed on smooth Jazz. He mentally shrugged. Better than Shade. He hated that guy.

"Why'd you change the channel?" Toni asked, turning left onto Broadway. "I was listening to that."

' _Not I' said the cat._

Ozzie curled back in his seat. He shifted, scooting his butt up on the cushion to get a little more comfortable. "Shade sucks." Ozzie mumbled. His head was pillowed in the small gap between the seatbelt and the headrest.

"Touchy," Toni drawled, flicking her blinkers on and switching lanes. "Sounded good enough to me."

"He sounds like a wannabe Zedd with none of the talent." His eyes were closed; his words slurred together.

" _You_ sound jealous."

Ozzie scoffed. "'M not. 'M just...," he frowned, clearing his throat. "I know what I like."

"Uh-huh."

"Listen to your jazz, Toni."

Toni chuckled and Ozzie felt the Prius make another turn. The sound of traffic began to fade, replaced with the bumpy crunch of loose asphalt as they drove into the alley he knew from experience led to the back of their home.

It was a converted church. One that had been repossessed for whatever reason and that Toni had jumped in to buy and repurpose. The bottom floor served as a quaint bookstore, the top two floors their living quarters. She'd kept some of the original architecture: a few angelic looking statues here, the twin gothic looking spires that spiralled towards the sky there. Most of the windows had been replaced with typical double pane glass. All except the window of the Archangel Raphael in Ozzie's room. That he'd managed to keep.

 

The car made one final turn and slowed down. He heard Toni turn off the ignition, pulling out the key with a deft twist of her wrist.

 

"We're here," she said.

 

Ozzie slit open an eye. With a grimace he grabbed his soggy garments from the back and padded out the car.

 

"When did James say he'd be here?" Toni asked, locking the car.

 

"Five." Ozzie slid his house key in the lock, "I'll see if they're out front."

 

"Don't even think about leaving those clothes on the floor," Toni said sliding past him and into the dimly lit stock room. "You'll forget all about them and the next thing I know I'll have to deal with moldy socks."

 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Tones."

 

"Put them in the laundry room when you head up."

 

Ozzie nodded. "Will do."

 

He stepped out into the main foyer, nimbly navigating through the aisles of bookshelves in the store with his armful of clothes. It had a fairly open floorplan. One with lots of windows to let in the bright SoCal light. Well. At least when the sun was out. It looked like the rain was finally letting up though. Which. At this point kind of sucked. He stopped in the front. He may have hated the rain but he'd been hoping to use it as an excuse to not have to go out tonight. Looked like that wasn't going to happen.

  
Leaning over the back of one of the burgundy couches, he nudged a small green potted plant an inch to the left before looking outside. Run down Nissan. Toyota. Toyota. Honda. Ah. Obnoxiously garish hot pink Maserati at the end of the road. That would be James. He flicked on the light switch beside him, illuminating part of the street, and moved to open the door. Hopefully that would get their attention. He tossed his clothes onto the deep ruddy leather he'd just leaned on and went to wait by the register. He had a copy of _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ sitting on the shelf directly below it. He was just getting to the part where Patrick kissed Charlie when the door opened, the sound of wind wet roads filling the store. Ozzie set the book down and slouched on the stool. His back was propped against the wall.

"Yo," he said with a slight inclination of his head to the two figures standing in the threshold. One was tall and pale. A killowat smile on his lips and droopy, tired looking eyes on his face. His black curls hung delicately around his ears. They contrasted with the ivory hue of his skin. That would be James.

He wore a black wool trench coat and Ozzie could spot the faint emerald glint of the ring his friend wore around his finger. It was the same deep verdant shade as his eyes. That killowat smile grew wider, showing off his dimples and James nodded in response, walking the rest of the way inside the warm bookstore.

The other figure was Clint. Short with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, his dark skin was a startling contrast to James' and even Ozzie's own. His hair was buzzed, almost bald, making his pursed lipped expression look even more severe. He rested one hand on his hip, the other clinging to a couple plastic bags from H&M.

 

He shoved past James, strutting purposefully towards the counter where he dropped the bags in front of Ozzie.

 

"Open them," he commanded, drumming his painted nails against the countertop.

 

Ozzie blinked. "Uh.... Okay," he said reaching for the closer of the two. 

 

James rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, walking a lot more leisurely towards the pair. "Not even gonna say hello?" He asked as he lightly smacked Clint on the back of the head. Clint gasped with affront. James turned to Ozzie. "Hey Oz," he said in that slow drawn out way of his, "and happy birthday."

 

"Uh-huh," Ozzie mumbled looking inside the H&M bag with a slight frown. He rubbed his thumb against his lip.

 

"I took the liberty of buying you a _proper_ clubbing outfit," Clint waved his hand in Ozzie's general direction, "lord knows I'd rather be dead than caught with your usual brand of...," He wrinkled his nose, eyeing the sweats Ozzie was currently wearing. "Ugly."

 

" _Clint_ ," James hissed, "be nice."

 

Ozzie snorted.

 

Clint took a breath. "Oh, fine. Happy birthday," he said sounding entirely put upon. "You can thank me later."

 

"Course, Clint."

 

"Now!" He clapped his hands together and pointed right at Ozzie. "Take me to your fortress of solitude and make me look pretty. I fucking hate how you can contour better than me. It's such a blatant waste of talent." 

  
"Shame I like being comfortable." Ozzie said dryly.

Clint clicked his tongue. "Beauty demands sacrifice and all that."

"Still would rather be comfortable."

Clint let out a sigh and placed a hand on Ozzie's shoulder. His expression spoke of tragedy and a deep seeded sadness in Ozzie's obvious fashion naivete. "One day you'll understand, my young padawan. One day."

Ozzie scoffed and began leading them up the stairs to the livable part of the building. The bags were clutched one in each hand. "Where are we going anyway?" He murmured.

"You mean after you make me look bomb as fuck in that closet you call a room?"

Ozzie rolled his eyes but nodded.

"Why then lovely James here shall escort us to Limbo! The most popular club in Hollywood at the moment. I hear they even have a super hype DJ playing tonight. Hashtag stoked."

_Beware_ _Limbo_

Ozzie stopped. "Limbo?"

"Yes, Ozzie, I already said that, please, I know it's hard but pay attention."

"Oh," he licked his lips and kept walking. "That's... Yay."

 _Beware Limbo_.

"I know right?"

_Beware Limbo._

Ozzie shook his head. It was just a coincidence right? The fact a creepy old lady who had mysteriously known his name warned him about 'Limbo' didn't mean anything at all right? His life was normal. _Tragic._ But _normal_. _He_ was normal. Bone chilling premonitions didn't happen to normal people. They _didn't._

_Beware Limbo._

So why couldn't he quite bring himself to believe that?


	13. R E M E M B E R I N G : ②⓪①③ [So You Say You Wanna Know]

**They don't believe me.** _ **Those were the four words that**_ _kept going through Ozzie's head when the police took his statement._ They won't believe me. _He could see it on their faces. That slightly incredulous furrow of the brow when he told them about..._ The Beast. _Ozzie winced, rubbing the skin of his elbow and bringing it closer to his chest. His body was physically fine, he knew that. The doctors had told him that. Anything he felt now was purely psychosomatic, but-_

(He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He could do nothing but sit there useless and wide-eyed as his fathers choked off yell filled his ears and his mother's raw and blubbering cry of _Guddu_ _!_ _Guddu_ _! Just leave my_ _Guddu_ _alone!_ pierced his soul-)

_"Ozzie?"_

_Ozzie flinched. His bangs hung over his face like a curtain and his too-thin frame looked even smaller in the over-large hospital gown they'd given him. He licked his lips. They felt raw and chapped and sore under his tongue. His legs were crossed at the ankles and a thin scratchy hospital blanket was draped over his feet._

They don't believe me.

_"Ozzie," the doctor, ever patient, called for his attention again. Crow's feet wrinkled the edges of the doctor's eyes and flecks of gray dusted his hair, "I need you to talk to me."_

Why? So, you can tell everyone that I'm crazy? That I'm too traumatized to know what I saw? 'Course.

_Ozzie laughed. Or at least it was his best approximation of one. It barely qualified really but what else was he going to call the mirthless exhale? A sob? No. No matter how much more accurate that title might have been, he refused... He couldn't... If he cried now..._

(The scaly fist gripped Ozzie's arm, those swimming serpentine eyes fluctuating between hues of burning red and ice-cold blue. He was paralyzed. Hypnotized. Transfixed by the very power of his fear and by the ever-tightening grip on his arm-)

_The doctor sighed. Adjusted his tie, a little frayed and well loved, over the slight mound of his belly. Pushed his large framed glasses up on his nose. "Ozzie-," the doctor began. He sounded tired, "why are you laughing?"_

Why?...

_Slowly, Ozzie brought his head up to stare at the man sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed. And it was the, he realized. The- Not his-never his; this hospital wasn't a home. It was a dorm. A prison. A temporary lodging, one he didn't have the privilege to leave yet. (Again) "I heard you talking," Ozzie said in lieu of anything else. His voice was like sandpaper: crackly and rough. "You're here 'cause everyone thinks 'm crazy."_

Do you even know what you saw in the first place? Does it matter?

_The doctor squirmed under his stare. "That's not what people are saying."_

_Ozzie scoffed, looking back down at his lap and twisting the sheets between his toes. "Isn't it?"_

_"Of course not. I just want to hear the story from you."_ Does it matter? They're dead- Dead. Dead.

(Something woke him up. At first Ozzie wasn't sure what. He figured it was James shifting in his sleep, but no. James was gone and Ozzie wasn't on the balcony anymore and it looked like he hadn't been for some time. He must've been more tired than he thought to sleep through James clumsily lifting him into his bed.

But then what-

Crash!

Ah. That.

Groggily, Ozzie rubbed his eyes and threw off his covers, a comforter with an assorted assemblage of Avenger's regalia, and padded across the carpeted floor to the door. It was probably just his mom. She had a pension for late night packing, never satisfied with what was stuffed in their suitcases until five minutes before they had to leave. Ozzie sighed, twisting the handle on his door and stepping into the hallway.

The home had a very open floor plan. Modern and minimalistic, it was extremely geometric, what with its long swaths of white walls forming harsh angles with the black hardwood floors and floor to ceiling windows. There was supposedly something Zen or maybe Shinto (definitely Asian) about the design. It was his mother's choice, Ozzie knew. His mother had always liked homes with lots of sunlight and room for her gardens. Just like she had always played with keeping her chi and chakra and aura and whatever else as spiritually healthy as possible. It was no surprise she'd gotten his father to accommodate that. Besides Ozzie couldn't complain. They'd been great for his art and Cynthia had always looked so pretty sitting under the cherry-blossoms in the central gardens... Head tossed back and laughing at whatever dorky thing he'd said at the time...

Ozzie yawned and scratched an itch on his chest, one hand on the rail. For some reason that thought didn't hurt quite as much as it usually did. Guess he was getting over her after all.

 _Only took getting high and making out with your best friend to do it_ , he mused with just a hint of self-deprecation. _Progress really._ All in all, he'd consider that a win.

He walked down the steps, a set of suspended light brown wooden planks, to the ground floor. There was a light on at the end of the hall. Ozzie rolled his eyes and made his way over.

"Ammi," he began, sounding sleep rumpled and stiff, "you checked all our bags this morning, go to sleep."

He reached the room where the light was coming from.

And stopped.

That wasn't his mother.

Ozzie blinked. Later he'd blame his idiocy on being half-asleep, but at the time the only thing he could think to say was: _Who the fuck are you?_

So, he did.

Then the Beast turned and-)

_Ozzie shivered, his elbow throbbing at the memory and he clenched it tightly between the fingers of his right fist. He could feel his nails digging into the skin there, leaving faint little crescent moons across the golden hue of it._

He won't believe me.

_"You won't believe me," Ozzie mumbled, tense._

_"Try me."_

_He drew his legs up to his chest, resting his head on top of them. "My parents were murdered," he said, "but you know that."_

_The doctor nodded. "I do. At this point, probably the entire country knows."_

_Ozzie bit at his thumb nail and rubbed the digit between his lips. "You wanna know 'bout the Beast then." Another nibble._

_"Ideally yes. I would like to know about this 'beast'."_

_Ozzie shook his head. "Not 'beast'," he picked himself up enough to make finger quotes before sliding back down into his little right side up ball, "The Beast." He took a breath. Brought his thumb back to his mouth. Lightly bit the tip. "It wasn't a thing. It was a he," his voice dropped to a whisper, "_ he _killed them."_

_The doctor shuffled in his seat. He brought something out of his pocket and set it on the edge of the bed. "Recorder," he said, "do you mind?" Ozzie shook his head._

_"So, what did the Beast look like, Ozzie?"_

_"He looked," Ozzie licked his lips. Breathed deeply through his nose, "fuck, uh, shit," there was a tremble running up his arm. A tightness in his throat. He bit his nail hard enough to draw blood._

_"It's okay, take your time."_

_"Sorry, 'm sorry," Ozzie scrubbed a hand over his face. It left a faint trail of blood across his cheek. Took another breath. "He looked," he started again, working past the lump in his throat, "like a man, but-he had like, these...scales...instead of skin and... claws instead of nails," he paused and bit his lip, "and his eyes were..." He trailed off._

(Eyes like fire and eyes like ice. Eyes that paralyzed and eyes too bright. Cunning eyes. Sly eyes. Snake eyes-)

_"And," the doctor prompted, "his eyes were?"_

_Ozzie jerked, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "Like a snake. They were snake-eyes. 'N that's it."_

_"Nothing else? Can't describe what he was wearing? Any recognizable jewelry?"_

_Ozzie shook his head. "Nothing."_

_"Okay," the doctor sighed, "and you said this...Beast grabbed you?"_

_Ozzie nodded. "My elbow," he mumbled, "left a mark."_

_"Ozzie," the doctor said, sounding tired and full of pity at the same time, "you know there was nothing there, don't you?"_

He doesn't believe me.

_Ozzie's head snapped up._

You knew he wouldn't.

_"'m not crazy," he glared at the man at the foot of his bed._

_"Now I didn't say that, I just think that maybe you should consider-"_

_"'m not crazy."_

_"-that potentially what you saw, wasn't entirely accurate-"_

_"'m not crazy."_

_"-and this 'beast' was merely your minds way of coping with an event so monstrous that well-"_

_"'m not crazy!"_

_"-you know you had a psychotic break, don't you?"_

_"'M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!"_

_Ozzie couldn't say what in him made him react the way he did. Logically he knew it did nothing to help his case. It was just... He was just... He was just so_ angry. _And so,_ tired _. Tired of people treating him like glass. Tired of people looking at him like the bubonic plague. Tired of people thinking he was fucking crazy._

_Tired of no one believing him._

_His hands reached the lapel of the doctor's coat and the force toppled the both of them to the floor with a loud crash._

_"'M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!" He screamed, weeks of pent up emotion bubbling to this surface, ""M NOT FUCKING CRAZY AND THE BEAST IS FUCKING REAL AND MY PARENTS ARE FUCKING DEAD NO ONE FUCKING BELIEVES ME!"_

_His hands trembled where they rested on the doctor's chest. Tears streamed down his face. "'m not fucking crazy," he said, "'m not. 'm not. 'm fucking_ not _."_

_"Ozzie-" the doctor began._

_Ozzie tensed._

_"Are you calm? I need you to be calm," the doctor said, voice slow and even, a zookeeper taming a wild animal, "breathe with me."_

_His breathing slowed._

_"That's it."_

_There was a tingle in Ozzie's hands, vaguely uncomfortable like his fingers were falling asleep, but different. Static. Magnetic. Like something was trying to talk to him--get his attention--but he couldn't quite get the station. A frequency off-kilter. Ozzie tilted his head. Gripped the doctor's tie. The place where that vaguely static feeling was strongest. A whisper._

_There. This. He knew this. Visiting._

_"Does she know?" He said, a huff of bitter air against the doctor's ear. "You don't love her. You've never loved her. You can't."_

_"What?"_

_Ozzie leaned back, eyes rimmed in red, but smile sharp and edged like steel. "Your wife, didn't buy you this tie, did she?" He gripped the fabric between his fist and laughed, "bet she'd love to know you're fucking some twink on the side," he scrunched his face in a facsimile of pleasure, "'Ah! Harder, daddy!'" That bitter sneer, vindictive like a knife in the back, "that's what he calls you isn't it? Your little side beau," he leaned back down. Whispered in his ear. "Your Jake?"_

_The doctor's face paled, "How do you...?" and Ozzie..._

_Ozzie felt... Euphoric._

_"'m not fucking crazy."_


	14. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [6]

**"Get lost kids," the bouncer was saying** , pinching the girl's fake ID's between the thumb and forefingers on his right hand. He stared down at their linked arms and scoffed, shaking his head humorlessly and looking for all he's worth like he'd rather be anywhere but standing at the entrance of the club. "There's no way either of you are a day over sixteen."

The girl on the left bristled, Ozzie noticed, a petulant expression settling on her face. Her black-lined lips were set in a thin line and the heavy-set neon blue eye-shadow around her eyes made them glint dangerously. The bouncer inwardly groaned.

"Seriously?" She demanded, tugging at the hem of her too short dress with her free hand and gesturing to her outfit, "does _this_ look sixteen to you?"

"Not a day older," the bouncer repeated-deadpan. He rubbed his face. "Look you're holding up the line. Just admit you got caught and go home. I ain't got time for this." The bouncer gestured with his chin for the couple behind them to walk in with a brutish sounding, _"go."_ They jumped, startled, took one look at the scene in front of them and hastily walked in.

Ozzie sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair. It hung limply over his brows and the drying edges curled in the late evening breeze. Bright city lights danced off the tips, like a strobe-lit aurora as he listened. He slouched and tilted his head to the side, the bouncer's thuggish timbre carrying all the way down to his spot on the corner. He cracked his neck.

"Why'm I here again?" Ozzie asked without taking his eyes off the crack in the sidewalk, (it was a _very_ interesting crack after all), his head angled to the side.

It had officially stopped raining not too long after James and Clint had arrived at the bookstore. The sky had cleared of clouds for the first time in what felt like a week and though it was chilly, the air was fresh and clean. Crisp. Devoid of smog.

"Because you love me and secretly want to be my doting house-husband," Clint drawled while inspecting his nails. He glanced up at Ozzie with a dull stare that would probably be more aptly called a glare if not for the fact that he had all the sarcasm in the world dripping off his tongue.

"House-husband," Ozzie repeated, wrinkling his nose in distaste, "do you actually think these things through or just say whatever comes to mind."

"Are you naturally an ass or are you really just that socially inept?"

Ozzie frowned. "I am not an ass. I just don't like bullshit."

Clint raised a perfectly arched eyebrow _(you're welcome dick)_ looking wholly unimpressed. "Not a _complete_ ass then," Clint amended after a moment of consideration.

Ozzie sighed.

Clad in an obnoxiously colored neon shirt; Clint resembled someone who'd raided a body paint store and wildly flung it all over themselves with reckless abandon. His pants were tight-tighter than Ozzie's- (the saying "so tight they might as well have been painted on" more than applicable) and were white with black duct tape pasted haphazardly across them. His eyes looked smoky: lined with deep greens and browns that brought out the hazel hue of them. Clint pursed his lips and placed a hand on his hip, eyebrow still raised.

"Of course," Ozzie conceded drily and looked at James; the James who cleared his throat, seemingly knowing without looking up from his phone that it was his turn to speak.

"'Cause Clint's a right little... shit when he doesn't get his way," he said distractedly while nimbly blocking Clint's swipe to his head with his elbow. "Gotta try harder than that short stuff," James mumbled.

Clint huffed. "Oh, you did _not_ just go there." James grin was mischievous and Clint let out this weird flabbergastedly frustrated noise before lunging at the taller boy, "oh you little _shit!_ "

"Sounds 'bout right," Ozzie agreed with a nod.

"Fuck both of you," Clint said whipping his head around and pinning Ozzie with a glare of his own. He jabbed a finger in their direction, then stopped, a slow impish smile crawling over his lips, "actually that could be kind of hot-" He said.

James groaned. "Clint!"

Ozzie tuned them out as the line begins to shift forward. For a moment, he was able to bask in the metropolitan equivalent of silence, conversation lulling into background noise as the club goers began to catch wind of the commotion at the front of the line. He closed his eyes, shutting out the lights and the crowds and the smell of cheap perfume and body-spray; it was almost like spending another Saturday night cooped up in his room. Almost.

The woman in front of him finally moved and Ozzie mournfully looked away from the crack in the sidewalk he'd been staring on and off at for the past five minutes (in favor of _not_ bumping into her). He caught the back of a flurry of wavy red hair by the "door". He glanced from his spot in line in time to see the girl open her mouth again (no doubt about to dig herself into a deeper hole) and Ozzie frowned with a shake of his head, his forehead creasing. He popped the collar of his leather jacket. The argument was pointless. And typical too.

He could feel the anticipation of the club goers growing like a pack of hungry wolves on the prowl, though. _In. In. In._ It was a subtle shift, one you'd miss if you weren't paying attention: conversations dying, heads cocking to the side, a sudden tension in the air like every muscle, every sense, every nerve ending is on red alert just waiting to be set off. _Snap!_ Down with the house of cards!

Ozzie shifted on the balls of his feet, trying to alleviate the ache in his soles and turned his attention back towards the street. He didn't want to be a part of whatever drama was on the horizon and as he lazily counted how many red cars passed in a minute (none of them quite capturing the perfect magenta hue of the Scarlet Witch's costume) he couldn't help but silently plead that the girls would take the hint and leave. _Go. Go. Go._ He begged. _The crowd smells blood and nothing good ever comes of that._ _Rip off the band-aid and leave. It's not worth the trouble._

It was just... clubbing wasn't- _isn't_ even really his _thing_. Too many people and too much alcohol and really who wanted to deal with a drunk over friendly Clint at one a.m.? Not him. Art, though? That was his thing. (Sort of). Comics? Definitely his thing. Crowds? Not so much.

Though he supposed that wasn't quite right either. It wasn't so much that Ozzie didn't _like_ crowds as much as Ozzie just genuinely didn't particularly care for _people_ as a whole. He was picky like that. Much more comfortable with the idea of watching _Iron Man 3_ with James on a Friday night in his _compact_ -he refused to call it _cramped_ or _small_ or _tiny_ -room, than going out for _"a night on the town."_ Which granted would have defeated the whole _"James needs to get out of his shit little apartment"_ aka _"Ozzie needs to get out his closet room and stop being an anti-social depressed mess_ " shtick but... fuck it.

Ozzie would have much rather done something just the three of them.

Didn't work out like that obviously.

He was close enough now that the crowd could no longer obstruct his view of the door too terribly and the neon lights that flickered the name _Limbo_ in big curvy letters were actually a visible tangible _thing_ -pulsing from blue to purple to aquamarine-instead of the faint glow he'd watched reflected off of every other car that passed by. The cheap plastic vines that hung over the entryway swayed with each passing patron and the heavy pulsing bass of dubstep thumped beyond that. He was still far enough away though that if he really wanted to see what was going on at the front (not that he particularly did) he'd have too crane his neck over about five other shoulders to do so. Clint on the other hand...

Ozzie blinked and rolled his eyes. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Clint looked sort of ridiculous standing on the tips of his toes in a vain attempt to see what was going on. He often forgot just how short the older boy actually was.

"I'm bored, and James here," the brunette said, not bothering to turn around and slapped some poor stranger's arm out of his line of sight, "stopped being entertaining. _Candy Crush: Soda_ is _horrendously_ dull to watch." He reached out blindly and smacked the aforementioned boy on the chest, "move." James made a disgruntled noise but didn't look up, staying focused on the game on his phone. Ozzie had to give him props. _The Anti-Clint shield was strong in this one_.

Clint pouted at the lack of reaction and smacked James again. "Do you want me to die Evans? I'll legitimately die of boredom if I stand in this-this- _blasphemous_ line a minute longer unentertained! Do you want me underwhelmed? You don't want me underwhelmed. You know how impatient I get when I'm _underwhelmed_!"

"Attention span of a... gnat," James agreed off-handedly. Ozzie still couldn't decide if James was just naturally that awkward or if he really did need to think so hard about everything. Ozzie had a running theory that it was all a ruse and James was secretly smarter than them all. Granted, the droopy inky ringlets of curls that fell over James eyes didn't really help matters either. They constantly meshed together and made him look like a tall skinny overgrown sloth lost in the big city. The kind of thing that was sort of adorable but at the same time couldn't help but feel sorry for. Like baby mice. Or puppies. Or ducklings separated from their mothers.

James glanced up from his game. "Though if you'd made me lose I'd have broken your finger... Would that have been... _whelming_... enough for you?"

Clint glared. "Fuck you." He shot back, not missing a beat before smirking impishly in his direction, running his hand up James' chest. He half closed his eyes. "You've got a dirty mind movie-star," he drawled with faux seduction, "that a proposition then? Didn't think you'd be into the whole S&-"

 _"Clint_!" James coughed and shoved his phone in his back pocket, batting Clint's hand away with his own, a crimson flush running down from his cheeks to his neck. "Please..." a pause, "Control your dick."

Ozzie snorted.

"Oh come on Jamie, no one gives a fuck, we're going _clubbing_ remember? That's like-like-the _epitome_ of like... _not_... controlling your dick! It's the whole point of the experience! Get as shit faced as possible and have a really questionably intimate encounter with a stranger in the bathroom," Clint took a breath, expression mock put upon, "and here I thought you were an actor. You should know these things, you're livelihood depends on showing the social conglomerate exaggerated shows of reality."

"Be nice," Ozzie admonished with a flick to his friend's forehead. James grumbled something about acting being _exaggerated for a reason_.

"Ow," Clint glared, but it was sort of nulled by the grateful expression on James' face. Which Ozzie was pretty sure was fueled by care-bears and rainbows or some shit. It was _that_ genuine.

Ozzie just _looked_ at Clint, this _"don't fuck with me I'm tired as shit"_ look and stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was getting chillier. Well chillier by Los Angeles standards at least. Which really meant anything under seventy.

Ozzie jerked his chin in the direction of the club. "Weren't you watching Legally Blonde and Pepper Potts draw blood over there?"

The darker skinned lad perked up at the mention of the girls, grin lighting up his face like Ozzie'd just given him the newest _Playstation_ (or maybe in Clint's case more accurately a new pocket knife).

"That's right," Clint said patting Ozzie on the cheek, a contemplative look settling between his brows. "You my friend, are really good at redirecting," he paused, "though who's Pepper Potts again? I feel like Jamie dear mentioned her once. I just can't be assed to remember."

James groaned. "Seriously?! Dude, we've watched _Iron Man_ like... a million times."

"Oh. Yeah. That," he tapped his chin and snapped his fingers, "yeah no, I always fall asleep in the first twenty minutes."

Ozzie sighed. "Ginger secretary chick?"

"I always thought she was more of a strawberry blonde to be honest," James interjected.

"Gwyneth Paltrow?" Ozzie said, running his thumb over his bottom lip, a crinkle wrinkling his brow, "uhm... she was Emma in _Emma_?"

"What does that have to-"

"Oh! _Her!_ Why didn't you just say so?" Clint squinted at the two girls, "you know-I kinda see it. Though I think she looks a bit more like a younger red headed version of Emmy Rossum."

"Now that's just mean to Emmy," James said with a pout.

Clint grinned. "Shush James, I'm trying to listen. The bouncer looks ready to slap the shit out of her."

"You know that's kind of illegal right?"

"Real helpful Jamie," Clint deadpanned. "Does it look like he gives a shit?"

"Maybe," James said with a smirk, "he doesn't really look the slapping type."

Ozzie sighed. He really didn't know how James did it--willingly navigate the many intricacies of Clint's mind--the guy was seriously a saint or something in a past life. "Fuck man," Ozzie patted his pockets and grimaced when he realized his cigarettes weren't there. He looked back up at Clint, "he'll probably just call security or something."

"But Ozzie my dear," Clint said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "he _is_ the security."

_Great. That's right._

The line moved forward and Ozzie could feel his mood plummeting the closer they got to the vined entrance. It felt sort of like jumping off a cliff with a horde of cybernetic zombies at his heel. Death by brutal dismemberment or death by pseudo-intentional suicide. Neither prospect was particularly appealing but the odds looked better with the cliff than with the zombies.

(Jesus, he really needed to lay off the Killing Floor 2)

Ozzie frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, the cold steel of rings a cool balm against his skin. He was probably being a tad dramatic, but that's what you got for having a movie-star for a best friend.

And videogames.

The bass got deeper and the air got thicker, headier. The voices got louder. James let out a gasp beside him.

"Is that Ariana Grande?"

"Don't care, be quiet," Clint hissed, "I can hear them talking again," he slapped a hand over James' mouth.

"Fucking ridiculous!" The one with the blonde hair was saying.

"Hayley- "

"Seriously who does this self-imposed _asshole_ think he is?!"

"Hayley maybe- "

Hayley stopped, her blonde hair looking almost white under the harsh glow of the streetlamp. " _What_ Amanda?!" She yelled, "what the fuck do you want to say?!"

Amanda, gulped. Looking away from her friend and shifting her feet on the pavement, the ginger cautiously taking a step back. "Just that...maybe we should just...go?"

"You should listen to your friend girly. Before I have to call the police." The bouncer said with his arms crossed threateningly over his chest. His muscles stretched the tight black fabric to capacity. Ozzie was really inclined to agree with that statement. _Please,_ he begged them silently, brow furrowed like if he stared hard enough his thoughts would transfer to them through osmosis.

Hayley whipped her head back around. Amanda looked decidedly more nervous, heck half the line was starting to look as uncomfortable as him about this situation _. Oh fuck_ , Ozzie thought. A quick glance at Clint showed the weirdo was grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat. Or maybe the Joker. He shivered. Either way it was creepy as fuck and in Ozzie's opinion decidedly too happy for the situation.

"Let it be known that this is not how I wanted to spend my birthday." Ozzie mumbled, wetting his lips.

Clint laughed loud and loose and full of glee as the Bouncer finally moved to take out his walkie. The ginger was pulling on her friend's arm. "Are you crazy?!" Clint exclaimed, practically vibrating in his spot, "this is better than pre-gaming!"

Ozzie shot James a plaintive look. He shrugged in response. Ozzie sighed, fisting a handful of hair between his fingers. There was a weird prickling feeling starting to crawl up the back of his neck. A bubble of anxious energy in his stomach. He brought his hands back down to his sides.

"Think you can just, I don't know, get us in? Or something?" Ozzie asked. Or maybe whined. He winced. He wasn't even sure which of them he was asking. He sounded desperate either way though.

Clint blinked up at him before rolling his eyes. "Oh fine. Since you did my makeup oh so well," he turned to James, batting his eyelashes with a flirtatious smirk curling the edge of his lips, "James be a doll and get us in would you? Use those movie star looks of yours."

James scoffed. "Glad to know why you keep me around." He deadpanned.

"Obviously it's not for your brain darling."

"I feel so loved, dude."

"As you should."

James shook his head, the black curls on it bouncing with the motion. "I'll see what I can do." He tapped the shoulder of the woman in front of them. "'Scuse me, but mind if I pop ahead of you for a moment?" She turned. Blinked. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Then nodded.

"Awesome," he grinned throwing out one of his famous Jamie Evans kilowatt grins. Complete with perfect teeth and dimples, "thanks."

The woman blinked again, looking from James to Clint and Ozzie and back again. "Yeah...No...Problem..."

"I think he broke her," Clint whispered, not at all subtly.

James rolled his eyes and stepped around the lady towards where the bouncer and teens were standing.

"This ought to be good." Clint said, standing with a hand on his hip. Ozzie just shook his head. Though, he had to admit the slightly gobsmacked expressions of the other patrons as the three walked through the vined entrance wasn't half as bad as he expected.

Clint bounded ahead, that same self satisfied smirk pasted to his lips as the other two caught up. "Without further ado," he began, dramatically spreading his arms in the lobby, "welcome to Limbo, motherfuckers!"


	15. R E M E M B E R I N G : ②⓪①③  [Hypnosis]

  
_**He felt like he was floating. Sinking. Suspended in a space where gravity didn't**_ _exist._

_But really, he was dying._

_He was asleep. Or well, he wasn't asleep. He was awake, but his body was not his to control. Only he supposed it was. That was the only reason he could think of for the way his body was telling him:_

_You're dying._

_******* _

_Ozzie's_ _Ammi_ _brought the cake out before the gift. The final gift. He wasn't impressed. There should have been some rule against withholding potentially valuable gifts from excitable birthday boys. It was just cruel. If it wasn't for the fact that James had obviously perked up at the word 'cake' there would be nothing stopping the scowl ('Pout_ _Guddu_ _, you're too cute to scowl' '_ _Ammi_ _, stop it!') from showing up on his face._

_The cake wasn't even chocolate (his favorite) but vanilla because he knew James wouldn't eat it otherwise (the weirdo somehow hated chocolate). Luckily Ozzie was like the world's bestest best friend ever (or something) and the sacrifice was one he was willing to make. He wouldn't tell James that though. He'd just get that moderately constipated look on his face and fake smile and laugh and call him a girl and Ozzie would be inclined to punch him for being unable to just say 'thanks dude!' which would put a damper on the whole 'world's bestest best friend ever' shtick he had going on._

**_***_ **

_He knew, just like he knew the feel of the sun on his skin or the softness of his blankets, that he was dying. That he wasn't breathing._

_A few more minutes of this and it'd all be over, he mused._

_In his mind's eye the light of the surface began to fade, to recede. He floated on._

_******* _

_Ozzie was no stranger to death. It didn't really bother him growing up, how it always seemed to be him that found the dead things. Like the birds with the broken wings, or the swarms of bees twitching on the ground on particularly cold winter mornings. It had never seemed like his fault was the thing. It was unrealistic to think that, wasn't it? They were already dead or dying when he found them. There was nothing he could have done to save them—he was a child not a doctor—nothing to do besides sit with the creature and hope that maybe the poor thing wouldn't feel quite so alone in its final moments._

_It was sad, yeah, but...they weren't people. And maybe that was a little cold. Maybe that said something about the type of person he was, but he understood at a very young age that everything died. Nothing lived forever and death, just like birth and life were all part of the same vicious cycle. It wasn't violent. Even when he'd see a half-eaten, half decomposed carcass slowly rotting into the forest ground he wouldn't think it was violent. Not truly. It was survival. It was nature._

_But then death had come for his parents and suddenly death didn't seem quite so benevolent or kind or natural at all._

_Suddenly, it felt like it was his fault, because...because if he'd just gotten on the plane, if he hadn't delayed their departure because he wanted to see James again after not having seen him in over a year, then—Then they'd still be alive. They wouldn't have been brutally murdered in their house by that...that...thing, and he'd be sipping wine in Venice overlooking roads made of water and smelling putrid hot trash but he'd have been with his family and they'd have been alive and everything would have been good._

_But he had delayed their departure. He had seen his parents get brutally murdered and he had been unable to do anything about it. He'd been frozen to the spot. And Ozzie was no stranger to death. Ozzie had once watched, with morbid curiosity, a Peregrine falcon dive out of the sky, screeching like a banshee as it sunk its claws into the meaty spine of an unsuspecting pigeon, its beak crashing into the_ _pigeon's_ _neck and tearing it open. Blood had drizzled off the hooked appendage, the pigeon barely able to let out one shrill undignified squawk before it was dead. It was brutal and swift and vicious and Ozzie..._

_Well, Ozzie had wanted to paint a picture of it._

_******* _

_"What are you thinking Ozzie?"_

_Ozzie blinked, his vision swimming for a moment before focusing back on the woman sitting across from him. She was older, probably in her late fifties with graying hair and a sharp looking black pant-suit. Her eyes were a cold almost colorless gray, the only three points of life shown in the startling blood red of her prada-esque heels, lips and nails. She looked more like a devil out for your soul than a doctor. Though he supposed the comparison isn't that far off. He felt his stomach start to churn and looked away._

_"That you need to take of your shoes," he mumbled, fixing his eyes on the silver chain bracelet wrapped around his wrist._

_He heard the lady, Dr._ _Chausser_ _he remembered, sigh and the distinct sound of her heels dropping to the floor. He saw her put them behind her chair out of his periphery._

_"Better?"_

_Ozzie looked up, licking his lips and clearing his throat. Dr._ _Chausser's_ _expression was tight lipped—stern. Severe. "Y-yeah?" he wrung his hands in his lap._

_No._

_"No."_

_Dr._ _Chausser_ _pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "What else?"_

_"Y-your l-lipstick."_

_"Mmm," she hummed, taking a tissue from the box beside her and wiping it across her lips. The red smeared across her skin, streaking between the white of the cloth in her hand. Ozzie clenched his fists and closed his eyes, breathing harshly through his nose._

_"There," she said after a minute, "are you satisfied?"_

_Ozzie slowly brought his gaze back to her lips. They looked a normal if not slightly ruddy, pink. He nodded._

_"Good," Dr._ _Chausser_ _shifted in her seat, "then I'd like to try something with you. Something that may help you remember what you've forgotten and give you some closure."_

_Ozzie frowned, tilting his head to the side. "What?"_

_"Hypnosis."_

_***_

_Ozzie woke up with a gasp, Dr._ _Chausser's_ _previously stern face looking wide eyed and worried._

_"Fuck!" Ozzie breathed out, rolling onto his side and puking onto the floor. Chunks splattered against the ground and over Dr.Chausser's shear leggings._

_"Ozzie--," she began, reaching out with one of those fucking painted talon-like monstrosities and Ozzie..._

_"Don't," He gasped, tears in his eyes and body thrumming with a nervous energy he couldn't place, "don't touch me."_

_Ozzie couldn't handle it._

_"Don't fucking touch me!" He screamed, jerking out of her touch and shoving himself as far away from her as possible._

_"Ozzie--," she tried again._

_"No!" His body was shaking and he brought his hands up to his face, whimpering and shaking his head. "Just no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no."_

_The door swung open. "What the hell is going on in here?!" Toni._

_Ozzie curled further in on himself. Sobbing hysterically. He doesn't even know why he's reacting the way he is. He didn't really remember anything. Nothing that should have had him acting like this. Like some crazy person._

_Toni and Dr._ _Chausser_ _were arguing above him, and distantly he was aware of his own pathetic blubbering. He tried to focus on their voices. On his breathing. On anything that wasn't the roiling inferno of his thoughts, but it was hard._

_"Never fucking again!" Toni yelled._

_Yeah. He couldn't help but agree. He felt spots color his vision. Never fucking again. He felt like total shit. He tried to get a word out. A garbled 'fuck' in warning. It was no use though._

_Everything went black._


	16. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [7]

**"Isn't this great?!" Clint yelled,** throwing one of his arms over each of James and Ozzie's shoulders. "Bitches, these be my fucking  _people!_ " He said, tossing his head back and laughing—his stocky body dangling between them like a marionette with its strings cut.

Ozzie shot him an incredulous look. "No," he said plainly. He didn't. He couldn't really say any of this was great. He couldn't even say any of this was good. Heck, Ozzie could barely say any of this was  _fine_. The only thing he  _could_  say was that Limbo was  _intense_. And even  _that'd_  be a gross understatement. He blew his bangs out of his face.

Clint pursed his lips. "Asshole," He intoned, his face contorting into something between a glare and a pout. Ozzie wasn't really sure which. It was kind of hard to tell what with the angle. And the lighting. And the fact that really, he didn't give two shits.

 _If I was half the asshole this dick thinks I am,_ he mused, as he shifted his grip on Clint's waist, _he'd be on the floor already._

Ozzie raised an eyebrow instead. Because  _obviously,_  Ozzie was not an asshole. "Do'ya _want_  me to drop you?" At least not that much of one.

Clint... blinked and... yeah that was definitely a glare. Ozzie smirked.

There were people everywhere. They milled about on the second floor between tropical looking palm-trees and exotic ferns. They packed the dance floor and the bars and the booths spread across the edges. Ozzie spotted a miraculously free one and inclined his head to James. Together they made their way over.

Clint's neon shirt glowed a hot pink in the psychedelic lights of the club. The white of his pants shined like a beacon. They were almost blinding under the attention of murky violet black lights, his feet barely touching the floor as a manic grin stretched across his lips. "Mush my noble steads!" Clint yelled, decidedly too peppy for nine-thirty in the evening and Ozzie jerked his head to the side at the noise. "There is so much hype you don't understand!"

"This would be a helluva lot better if I wasn't about to make out with you," James grunted, their heads almost knocking together. James winced as Clint threw him off balance, his skin looking over-pale and washed out under the harsh attention of the lights strobing around them.

Ozzie frowned. "Dude, did he take something before we got here?"

"He's Clint," James said with an eye-roll, like that explained everything, which to be fair it kind of did. "Why do you think I drove?"

Clint pouted. "Aww Jamie, I'm hurt. Really! Where's your bloody sense of adventure?!"

With a grimace, Ozzie shrugged his shoulder, trying to shift the added weight of Clint a little more comfortably. "Probably lost it with your lame ass Tarzan impression." He gritted a breath out through his teeth. "You're heavy as shit, dude."

"Are you calling me fat?" Clint bounced to his feet, hands drumming against his hips and eyebrow raised. "Hashtag rude."

Ozzie sighed and cracked his neck before slumping down into the booth. "Course I wasn't Clint. You're very fit."

"Damn straight," he said with a nod. He turned to James, his expression slipping to one of dirty promise. Clearly whatever he'd taken was something that played a lot more openly with his slutty side. Ozzie leaned back in their booth and rapped his knuckles against the table. Ozzie couldn't say much about Limbo, but one thing was for sure and that was that  _Limbo_ , in the wise if not terribly inaccurate faux English accent Clint had just pronounced his enthusiasm in, was a  _bloody madhouse._

Clint trailed a slender finger down the movie-star's chest. "Let's dance, Jamie," he whined, batting his eyelashes and looking much too childish. "I wanna dance and make-out with total strangers!"

James flicked his gaze to Ozzie. "Uh, I don't—" he began.

"Take him."  _Please,_  Ozzie didn't say, cutting his friend off. He made himself comfortable in the booth, his arms resting across the back of its embroidered surface as he settled into the leather seats. "I'll be fine." He promised. _Just gonna sit here and pray not to get an epileptic seizure._

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well if you're—"

"Jamie! The birthday boy gave his blessing! He'll be fine! He said so!" Clint interjected, tugging on James' arms and bouncing on his feet. "Come," he grunted, " _on!"_ James stumbled to the side.

"Jesus!" He exclaimed "Fine! Fine!" James said, tugging his arm free.  _Sorry,_ he mouthed at Ozzie. The olive-skinned boy waved him off. Shaking his head, James turned back to Clint, probably leveling him with one of his more exasperated expressions. One that still probably looked more like a kicked puppy than anything.

"Have fun," Ozzie mumbled as they walked away.

The club was dark save for the lights shining overhead _._  It was dark. But then it was not. It was blue. Then red. Then green. Yellow. Pink. White. Then back. Dark. But not. Because everywhere Ozzie looked were people with their own little shocks of light. People gloving. People with bands of glow sticks wrapped around their necks. People with streaks of bright paint across their skin.

Music poured from the speakers, resonating with a mind-numbing bass in even the darkest corners of the club. It thrummed an energy all its own. A pulse of Ariana's soaring soprano and dubstep. A life-blood of alcohol and sweet adrenaline. Ozzie tilted his head back. Let the music run over him. Closed his eyes.

There was the melody, that, Ozzie knew, almost anyone could hear, a hard-obvious line that moved through the song like water. It carried the listener from beginning to end. But songs had subtleties, too. Harmonies that bolstered in the background. A strong beat. Synth and glitch. Vocoder and computer generated clap.

His lips moved to the lyrics. His foot kept time, while his finger danced to variation. In his mind, he saw lines. Blue for melody. Green for harmony. Yellow for vocalization. Red for instrumental. If he'd been the one to make this remix, he'd have put more of an emphasis on Ariana's strengths. Her range. Her flexibility. And then his own strengths. Finding new beats. Creating new melody. Editing. A collaboration of the finer things. But then again, who'd notice in a setting like this? He made music to listen to, to think about.

Places like this made music to feel.

A glass clinked beside him. "This seat taken?" Ozzie's knee jerked into the table and his eyes snapped open. " _Fuck_." He hissed, rubbing his leg with a wince.

A chuckle. "Sorry."

 _Ah,_  Ozzie blinked,  _stranger._

The guy grinned, cocky and over-confident like he was proud he'd gotten a reaction but known he'd get one the moment he'd walked over. Ass. "Hopefully without the danger, mate." He said, that cocky grin still in place. Ozzie was pretty sure that little ball of something growing in the pit of his stomach was annoyance. Either that or...gas. No. Yeah. Definitely gas.

"I..." Ozzie wet his lips, "said that aloud didn't I.... Stranger."

The corner of the guy's mouth twitched. He didn't look much older than Ozzie—twenty-two, twenty-three max—with pastel pink hair styled in a faux-hawk. The sides were buzzed and the top was pulled back into a tight bun. His face was littered with piercings. One through his nose, a couple through his left eyebrow, another on his lip, a row ranging from the top of his right ear down to the lobe.

"Dante," the guy said, "not stranger." Dante settled into the other side of the booth, pulling his drink closer to himself and stretching out languidly in the seat. "Cheers, yeah?" He took a swig of it, knocking his head back and placing the bottle back on the table. Some sort of crappy beer if Ozzie had to guess.

"Uh, cheers," Ozzie frowned, "dude. I... uh... you can't sit here. 'M waiting for my friends."

"The tall skinny bloke and really bouncy short guy, right?"

Ozzie inclined his head. "Yes?"

"Cool. Saw them piss off, figured you could use a bit of company."

Ozzie hummed in response.

"You gonna tell me your name, mate?"

Ozzie just looked at him. Then took out his phone. There was a weird buzzing in his ears—grating—like sub tonal static. He grimaced and eyed the speaker closest to him. That was annoying. Whoever made this remix fucking  _sucked._

Dante followed his gaze. "This beat is for _shit_ innit?"

Ozzie nodded. Thought about stopping there. Sighed. "Too repetitive."

"Yeah, I can see what you mean."

They lapsed back into silence. Dante took another swig from his probably-beer and wiped his mouth the back of his hand. Ozzie pretended he could actually do something besides  _Tiles_  on his phone. Which he couldn't and sadly, that game was hard as fuck and he always got stuck on the fucking 512 square. Like right now. Presto.  _Game Over_

Ozzie set his phone to the side and drew his attention back to Dante who'd finished about a quarter of his beer. He rose a brow, self-confident smirk teasing at the edge of his lips.  _Ass._  Ozzie huffed out a breath. But fine, he'd bite. "So... you're Australian then?" There. An olive branch born of boredom.

"Yep, aussie lad 'ere, probably born, definitely raised in good ol' 'Straya."

"Probably?"

"Mum or the old man were Japanese. Don't know which," Dante grinned, setting his bottle back on the table. "Reckon I earned that name right 'bout now though, yeah?"

Ozzie rolled his eyes. "Ozzie." He offered.

Dante laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah?" Ozzie frowned, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. "W'as so funny?"

"Nothing, mate, nothing. S'ironic is all," he chuckled again. "Reckon'll be calling you Oz."

"Confident."

Dante reached into his pocket, taking out a card. He scrawled something across the back of it before sliding it over to Ozzie. "The tall bloke, your mate, was Jamie Evans, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dante grinned, the same shit-eating, asshole grin he'd been sporting since he arrived. "Then we'll be seeing heaps of each other." He knocked back the rest of his beer and stood. "Cheers then, Oz. I'll be seeing you."

Ozzie glanced down at the card.  **DJ Shade**  it read in big blocky letters.

"You have  _got_ to be kidding me."

A shrill whine came from speakers and Ozzie winced, rubbing his ear. The buzzing was getting worse, he realized. It vibrated in his bones and flipped nausea in his stomach. "Shit." He stood.  _Air, gotta get some fucking air_. He didn't remember moving but he must have. He didn't remember leaving the booth but he must have. He stumbled through the crowd towards the closest door. Shoved through the club-goers with little regard to manners. Distantly someone shouted his name.

He kept moving. It wasn't just his stomach. Now it was his head, his vision swimming and throbbing with sudden jagged spikes of pain. Ozzie gasped, clutching at a wall and dry-heaving, shakes scouring his wiry frame.

The buzzing grew louder. Like bees. His skin crawled.

_Ozzie._

Ozzie whipped his head up. He couldn't hear anything else. The noise of the club faded replaced only by deafening, roaring, buzzing. Angry and aggressive. It beckoned him forward. It screamed his name.

_Ozzie._

He could barely see. Barely stand. But there was someone standing by the door. It looked at him. Pointed. Then walked out of it. The Buzz pulled at his skin, yanking at his hairs like tiny claws. A command.

_Ozzie._

Ozzie followed.

_Ozzie._

The door spit him out into an alleyway. The figure stood, hooded in all black at the mouth of it. It stood. Its cloak didn't move in the chilly L.A night air.

_Ozzie._

His lips moved. _What do you want?!_

The Buzz seemed to focus around the figure. Condensing. The hood blew off—

_Ozzie._

The figure pointed—

(It had no face. It was just a gleaming skull--)

  
_Hayley_ _Matts_ _._

His eyes widened. Copper hit his nose. Dripping. And red. And. Ozzie— The figure— He— It— _They_

**_Screamed._ **

Someone burst through the open door gasping for breath. "Oz, are you—holy  _shit!_ " It was James. Of course it had to be James.

Already, there were people gathering around the outskirts of the scene, filing out the club and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. _Fuck_. They'd probably heard Ozzie scream. This was a nightmare. Focusing on that teen girl's mangled corpse, he finally noticed just how messed up whoever murdered Hayley had made her--they took off her fucking _head_ for crying out loud--and double _fuck-- They all probably thought he did it._

Ozzie couldn't deal. Already, the whispers were starting. The hushed mumbles. The clicks of camera phones.  This was going to be trending and in a few hours the entire world would know. The entire world would be judging.

He heard the sound of retching and Ozzie turned, his body stiff and expression carefully blank as he tore his eyes away from the grisly scene in front of him. The Buzz was gone and in its place was barely controlled fear.

"You got a cellphone?" His gaze trailed back to the prone body in the middle of the alleyway. He couldn't bare to look at his friends ashen face. His hands began to tremble. His voice was flat. "I think we have a bit of a problem."

Happy fucking birthday to him.

Hayley Matts was dead.


	17. P A R T. T W O

Dear Nobody,

Fuck, I don't know how this thing is supposed to work. I figured it'd be easy. At least people make it look easy. The concept _is_ pretty straight forward. Pen. Paper. Blank page. Hand moves pen over paper. Magical emotions and awe inspiring introspection occurs. Wow. I feel like a more complete human being already.

In movies, it's always the girl with the little pink notebook on her desk with the flowery print and sparkles and butterflies; her high reedy voice, voicing over the words she scribbles down on the page. She'll make it look so simple, too. Like her message just...flows or something. A simple...stream? Yeah. Stream. Whatever.

It'll be a simple stream of consonants and vowels strung together to make sounds that are translated onto a page to make shapes that make up words that make sentences and boom. You have your angsty teenage drama story right there on a scrap of too flowery paper written by a girl whose life really isn't all that bad but fuck if she doesn't think that Boy A dating her best friend Cindy is the end of the god damned world. It's not. It won't be. And it never fucking will be. Too much free time I say.

Fuck. That's sort of telling isn't it.


	18. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [8]

 

 **James kept touching him. Little touches.** Grounding touches. Touches that kept him from spiraling. James was a steady hovering presence beside him. A faint nudge against his side. A tap against the back of his hand. An arm around his shoulder. _I'm here for you. I've got you. You're not alone, dude._ Ozzie needed it. He knew without James his mind would've been a million miles away—stuck remembering a night that was eerily similar to this one—thinking about his _parents_ and—

There was a pinch against his elbow, sudden and hard and the faint scent of jasmine left his nostrils. Now all that remained was the smell of pennies and iron. Blood. Somehow that was better. Ozzie blew out a breath, his body sagging with the motion and he blinked, bringing his focus back to his surroundings.

They were sitting on the cracked edge of a sidewalk—one that was just outside of Limbo—and red and blue lights flashed over their faces. Ozzie bit his lip, worrying the chapped skin between his teeth. He felt James shift beside him, bleeding warmth past the leather of Ozzie's jacket. Knee to knee. Shoulder to shoulder. Ozzie breathed.

 _Don't cycle out,_ he pleaded. _Don't. Just focus on the now._ He closed his eyes. _Focus on what's in front of you,_ he commanded. Ozzie opened them. He was in L.A. _Hollywood._ He knew that. He was a couple blocks away from the Kodak theatre and Ripley's. Or...was it the wax museum? Nah. It was definitely Ripley's. He knew that too. Just like he knew his name. Knew his age. Knew that he was surrounded by caution tape and streetlamps. Chewing gum and stop signs. Knew that the brick wall Ozzie had leaned against earlier bracketed his left and the police cars that'd answered the 911 call bracketed his right. The scent of blood still lingered. It made him hardly want to open his mouth. He saw a gurney, one with a large black _(body)_ bag attached to it. Ozzie winced. _(A flash of gleaming bone in moonlight. A thought he tried to erase. Ozzie. Ozzie. Ozzie. Ozzie.)_ Fuck his breathing was all fucked again and his hands were trembling, his heart was racing, _can't breathe, can't breathe,_ _can't_ —

James squeezed his thigh.

"—saw him come out here," He was saying, his breathing slow and deliberate. His chest heaved with it. _Focus on me._ It said. Another squeeze. _Copy me._ Ozzie tried to match it best he could. It was probably an odd sight, James taking these long deliberate breaths in the middle of a sentence and Ozzie barely hanging on... At least the officer talking to them had the tact not to comment. Well...on that.

"And what exactly _did_ you see Ozzie?" They asked, turning their attention onto him. He felt James tense and Ozzie slowly brought his eyes up towards the officer's face. He'd zoned out, not even realizing he'd started trying to count how many creases had formed in the officer's leather boots. He'd gotten up to about thirty on the left one.

Ozzie blinked. "What'd I see," he probably looked dazed. He certainly felt it. Unfocused. Unhinged. A rope hanging on by a thread. His mouth twitched, "when I got outside?"

The officer nodded. "Yes."

"I saw," _(Hayley. Bone. White. Viscera. Muscle that looked like ground beef. No head. No neck. Chest cavity broken open like the maw of a rotting clamshell. Blood oozing around her like the yolk of a cracked egg.)_ Ozzie dropped his gaze. Leaned more obviously against James. Shivered. "A fuckin' dead girl."

"Ozzie!" James hissed.

"Now, sir," the Officer began placatingly, "we're just trying to understand what happened here."

Ozzie looked back up at the officer. He jerked his chin over in the direction of the rest of his force milling about the scene. "Ask one of 'em. They already got my statement."

"Ozzie!" James nudged his side with an elbow before addressing the officer standing in front of them. "Sir, sorry, uh, he's usually...not...uh, anyway," he licked his lips nervously and cleared his throat. "I don't understand why you're asking for his statement again. Like he said, he gave it already."

"Well you see—"

Ozzie cut him off. "They're at a loss James," he mumbled, "don't have any leads 'sides me so they wanna see if my story changes by—," he shot the officer a level look before flicking his gaze back down, "—asking me the same question over and over again," he spoke deliberately, voice scratchy and low, hardly louder than a whisper, " _'what did you see?_ '" He scoffed, the noise bitter and dark, "isn't that, right?"

The officer blinked. Then coughed into the back of his hand. "Now, I wouldn't say that. We understand that this has been a... _traumatic_ experience. We uh...just... want to know if you've remembered anything _more_ in the time that's passed."

_(A figure in all black at the end of the alley. Pointing. The Buzz that yanked at his skin like tiny fish hooks telling him were to go. Ozzie. Ozzie. Ozzie. Ozzie. The skull that gleamed white and soulless back at him—a bonafide reaper from hell. Hayley Matts. Hayley Matts. Hayley Matts. Words that thrummed through his very being like the echo of death itself.)_

Ozzie shakily rose to his feet. James was quick to follow. Ozzie wobbled for a moment, listless and looking somewhat precarious, but he stabilized. He smacked James' helping hands away.

"Got nothing more to say," he said, after a moment, "so I'd like to go."

The officer opened his mouth, then clicked it closed, finally flicking his gaze between the two of them. They probably looked gaunt and weary. The officer sighed, scratching the hair on the back of his neck and apparently thinking better of saying whatever it was he was about to. "Go on then," He said. "Do you need a ride?"

_Den/Den_

"No," Ozzie mumbled, "we got it covered, right James?"

James threw an arm over Ozzie's shoulders. "Yeah, lemme just text Clint. See if he got home okay." It took all of Ozzie's willpower not to roll his eyes. He hummed in response though and James took out his phone, unlocking it one-handed.

Ozzie wrung his hands together. Counted his fingers. Ten. Nine. Eight... Down to one and back. Back and forth. Breathed. If it weren't for the fact that he knew he'd fall flat on his face if he took a single step by himself, he'd have shoved James off him. As it was though, Ozzie was tired. It was after midnight, and he just wanted to go home, crash in bed and hopefully not have nightmares involving dismembered teens. If James wanted to help with that, then... Fuck it. Also...he suddenly had this weird ass craving for a Big Mac and fries.... He probably shouldn't think too hard about that one.

"Okay," James said.

"We good?"

"Yeah."

"Cool," Ozzie flashed the officer a drowsy two-fingered salute as they started walking down the street. "Peace, love and happiness, dude," he called over his shoulder, "get yourself a Big Mac when you're done here 'kay? You totally deserve it."

"Jesus!" James coughed, his sides shaking with barely contained mirth, "you're awful," He cleared his throat. "What the fuck, dude?"

Ozzie shrugged. "'M craving McDonalds."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," Ozzie nodded, rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip, "think it's a weird coping mechanism? Like I know it's _weird_ but..."

"Some fries sound nice right about now," James squeezed his shoulder. "I think the one by Hollywood and Highland's still open."

"Cool," Ozzie said.

"Cool," James echoed.

That was all they needed to say.


	19. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [9]

**James' Maserati rolled to a stop, the lights flickering off as the smooth purr** of the engine rumbled down to nothing. They were a few blocks away from the bookstore and Ozzie eyed James curiously as he fiddled with the key still in the ignition. James had on his 'thinking-face' and Ozzie waited, saying nothing, merely popping one of the last few fries left in his red and gold container into his mouth, chewing quietly in the sudden silence that engulfed the vehicle. A frown marred his face, the light from the streetlamps that lined the block casting it in sharp relief. His expression seemed even more severe like that Ozzie noted. His friend's grip was iron on the steering wheel. A minute passed. Two. Three.

Finally, James sighed, letting go of the wheel and leaning back in his Maserati's leather seat. "So," he began, "what are you going to tell Toni?"

Ozzie swallowed, the fry in his mouth suddenly tasting like plastic. "About the fact, I spent the night playing _'Where's Waldo?'_ with a decapitated head?" He shrugged. "Nothing if I can help it." He grabbed the last two fries out of the container and shoved them in his mouth. Cold and a little limp, they weren't the best things on the planet but they also weren't the worst either. At the very least they were enough of an excuse to not keep talking. That was something he was in desperate need of right now.

James' frown though deepened and he turned to face him. "You should tell her _something_ , though."

Ozzie shook his head. "I don't want her to worry," he said and looked away, putting the now empty fry container back in the white bag it came in.

"She worries anyway," James pointed out, rather unhelpfully.

"I _know_ ," Ozzie bit his lip, wringing his hands together in his lap. "S'why I don't want to make it _worse_."

"Fine."

James' finger tapped nonsensically against the dash and Ozzie let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face. James clearly hadn't liked that response. Ozzie crinkled the paper bag between his fists as much as he could before tossing it to the floor. He rubbed his thumb against his lips, needing something to do with his hands.

"Fuck," Ozzie groaned, "don't you have any cigarettes in here?"

James rolled his eyes. "Check the console."

Ozzie blinked. "Since when did you keep anything useful there?" He scoffed.

"Dude, have you _seen_ my backseat?"

Ozzie looked over his shoulder. Took in the stacks of papers, probably scripts, piled haphazardly over the black seats like confetti. There were even a few old and empty Starbucks cups littered over the floor. Ozzie wrinkled his nose.

"Gross dude."

"Yeah, yeah man," James popped open the console and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He opened the car door. "Come on, you're not smoking in my baby. She's sensitive."

"She's a car."

"She's _sensitive_ dude."

Ozzie got out the car.

He shut the door behind him, the sound over-loud in the near darkness and stepped onto the sidewalk beside him. He heard the faint click of the car locking and then James was there-on his left-holding out a cigarette between the thumb and pointer finger of his left hand.

"Thanks," Ozzie mumbled, sticking the butt of it in the corner of his mouth while James lit the tip, his free hand cupping the flame away from the wind.

"No problem," he said lighting one for himself. He inhaled deeply, stuffing the cigarettes in his back pocket before exhaling in three quick 'o' shaped puffs. He started walking down the street. Towards the bookstore. Towards Toni. "Coming?"

Ozzie took another steadying puff of his cigarette before letting out in a stream of smoke from his nose. "Yeah."

It was a nice night out, Ozzie mused, what with the clouds finally clearing and letting the light of the moon illuminate the land below. He could finally make out the ocean, not it's waves, he was too far away f for that, but he could make out the inky black expanse of it. Stars speckled the sky and the water both, the sea a living breathing mirror, constantly in motion. Constantly in flux. That was the beauty of Santa Monica. Sadly, he was a bit too preoccupied to fully enjoy it. Perks of finding murder victims in alley ways and all.

Ozzie inhaled sharply. This time he held the smoke in until his lungs burned with it. Until he couldn't distinguish whether it was the lack of oxygen or not. Then he exhaled.

The two of them crossed the street, view of the ocean lost behind two-story brick and meticulously trimmed trees. Ozzie could feel James watching him. Or at least he kept glancing at him. It was the look of someone who had something to say but didn't know how to say it.

Ozzie sighed. "What?"

James shook his head, tapping the ash off the mouth of his cigarette before taking a final drag of it and stubbing it out on the ground at his feet. "Nothing."

"You keep looking at me."

"I look at you a lot Oz."

Ozzie shot him an unimpressed look. "You're deflecting."

"Well we've already been over it so," James shrugged.

"Seriously?" Ozzie huffed, stubbing out his cigarette and kicking it in the gutter as they passed. "Still worrying about Toni?"

James shook his head. "I just think you should tell her. You can't expect to keep her in the dark about this. I mean you found a _body_ , that's gonna make the news dude."

"I know," Ozzie said, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "I don't plan to, I- Just- Not tonight. Okay?" The bookstore was only a few buildings down.

"What if she already knows?"

"I'll worry about that when- _if_ -it happens." They were in front of the bookstore now and Ozzie unclipped his keyring, cycling through the few on it to the one for the front door. "Scooch," he said, nudging James with his hip. He unlocked the door and the two of them stepped inside.

"You staying the night?" Ozzie asked as they maneuvered through the stacks towards the door labeled 'employees only'.

"Yeah," James clapped him on the back, "not gonna leave you alone tonight dude."

"Thanks." Ozzie bit his lip and used another key from the ring to unlock the door in front of them. It led to the apartment. There was a light on at the top of the staircase.

"Guess Toni's awake then." James said.

Ozzie sighed. "Guess so."

They went up the stairs. Toni was in the kitchen. She sat at the table, book in hand and steaming cup of what smelled like coffee beside her. She set the book down as they entered.

"Evening boys," She greeted in the same precise and borderline clipped tone she always used, "have fun?" She took a sip from her coffee and raised a brow.

"Uh," James glanced at Ozzie, eyes looking a bit wide.

"It was great," Ozzie cut in, shooting James a glare. What good was being an actor if he couldn't even come up with a decent lie? "we danced, had fun, did dude things," Ozzie shrugged casually, "oh and I met that DJ you liked," Ozzie took out Dante's- _DJ Shade's_ -card. "He was playing at Limbo tonight."

"Wait," James blinked as Toni picked up the card, "you met Dante?"

_Well the guy had said he knew James._

"Yeah," Ozzie said, "you were dancing with Clint, I was uh, back in the booth, taking a break. He came over and uh...yeah." Ozzie rubbed the back of his neck and unzipped his jacket.

"Huh, small world. He's doing some of the soundtrack for this Indie flick I'm in."

"He'd mentioned something like that."

"Really? Makes sense I guess-"

Toni asked. "Anything else happen?"

"No," Ozzie said, shaking his head. "Don't think so. What about you James?"

"Nope."

"What are you reading, Tones?"

" _Dante's Inferno_ ," she lifted it to show them the cover. She eyed them both.

James gulped. "Interesting choice?"

"And why is that?"

"No reason! Just. So. Classic?"

_Jesus._

"Dude," Ozzie hissed. _Way to look totally guilty of something, man._ He sighed. "What are you trying to get at Toni?"

"Nothing," she said, taking another sip from her mug, then set it down with all the grace of the debutante she had been. "I'm just waiting to hear why the police called me at midnight saying my nephew was a key witness to the murder of a sixteen-year-old girl," he nails drummed against the table, "care to explain?"

Ozzie rolled his eyes, arms crossing his chest. "I found a dead girl. Happy?"

"No," She didn't raise her voice, but the threat was still there, resting in her eyes. "Not 'happy'. I want to know why you weren't going to tell me."

Ozzie narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to bed."

"No, you're not, Ozzie, not until you tell me-"

James put a hand on his wrist, "uh. Ozzie?"

"I'm. Going. To. Bed." Ozzie shook him off.

"Ozzie," she warned.

Ozzie turned to go, James was quick to follow.

"We're going to Dr. Nelson's first thing in the morning, Ozzie!"

"Fine."

He heard her chair scrape out from the table. Jostling in the kitchen as she set her dishes in the sink. The click of the telephone as it was picked up from the receiver. Her voice murmuring the words:

_'I need you to come to L.A'_

Ozzie stopped and almost turned around, but James was looking at him funny and honestly he was tired. Maybe he'd misheard. It was almost three a.m after all. Maybe he was looking for something where there was nothing? Maybe. But what if he wasn't? He thought about the woman in black and her warning. Of the figure leading him to Haley. Of the buzzing just underneath his skin. Instinct. Instinct that he should have trusted. That didn't sound like something she'd say to Dr. Nelson. If he _had_ heard right then just who was she talking too?

His gut was telling him yes and his mind was telling him no and his body was telling him sleep so--

He climbed the steps and went to bed. Whatever the case, it could wait until the morning.


	20. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [1 0]

**The sound of footsteps wasn't what grabbed Dodge's attention.** It was the fact that they stayed that did.

"What do you want?" Dodge asked gruffly. He didn't bother turning around, electing to instead keep his eyes fixed on the entrance of the club. There was a drink in his hand and he tapped his pointer finger against it idly, the bottle sweating like himself in his palm.

"You looked like you could use some company." A masculine voice said from behind him and it was... Well Dodge didn't know what he was expecting, perhaps the gravelly crinkled parchment tone of a demon about to strike, but the man's voice was surprisingly... Normal. Just... Deep? Rich? Full? That was probably how Newt would describe it. It resonated in his chest like the obnoxious bass that pulsed through the air. Dodge frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, bringing the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

The action made his biceps bulge in the shirt of his civvies and Dodge felt unwittingly... _exposed_. Naked in the too tight purple v-neck and pair of ripped low hanging jeans hanging onto his waist.

"I don't." He grunted, cringing at the bitter tasting draught as it burned down his throat.

It didn't matter that both of his boots had knives embedded in their soles or that the chains that hung from his jean pockets were Blessed; he could _feel_ the stranger's eyes tracking the motions. He could feel the stranger watching the bob of his throat as he swallowed and practically hear the man drooling as he took in the definition of vainly hidden muscle underneath the thin fabric.

"You sure about that?" The stranger asked and his tone was the kind of casual that screamed that he really was not. The other man moved to make himself comfortable against the wall. Staking his claim. Not planning to leave. Dodge felt his heart-rate spike and he moved to subtly wipe his hands on the thigh of his jeans.

It was embarrassing, Dodge knew. He was a Locust. He could face down demons. He could break bones and crack heads against pavement without breaking a sweat. He'd looked Death in the eye and spit in the socket of her gleaming skull, yet here he was feeling like he was about to throw up over a few words from a stranger's mouth. It was pathetic.

Dodge barely suppressed a groan and hurriedly covered his shudder by taking another, larger, gulp from the drink he'd bought when he'd entered Eden a couple of hours before.

"I am sure." Dodge said, wiping his hand against the back of his mouth and setting the drink down precariously on top of the rail in front of him. It was silent for a blissful moment, the stranger no doubt expected him to turn around and finally break his unofficial staring contest with the doorway. He didn't move.

"Awesome," The man cleared his throat. If Dodge focused his hearing in that direction, amplifying it with the help of the Locust's Blessing, he could hear the stranger licking his lips. "You've got a bit of an accent, don't you? What is it? Russian?" The man asked.

Dodge found himself wanting to roll his eyes. He then found himself innately disturbed by the fact he felt the urge in the first place. So, millennial. He hummed noncommittally instead, continuing to survey the crowd of bodies below. Let the stranger believe his accent was Russian if he must. That really wasn't any of his business and none of Dodge's concern.

"Playing a bit hard to get, aren't you?"

Dodge wrinkled his nose, cracking his back to remove any built-up tension in his joints and steadfastly refusing to look at the person beside him. "You're annoyingly persistent," He said. "I'm not playing at anything."

"Oh, burn," The man said, "lucky for you I've been called worse," Dodge felt the strangers hand lightly grip his bicep, "and liked it." Dodge tensed at the touch.

"Why are you still here?" He glared down at the hand.

"Because you're hot. And hard to miss, I mean, _damn_ ," The stranger said, running his hand down Dodge's arm. A drawback to being the tallest person in the room. At this point, Dodge was forced to look at him. It didn't do anything to make the situation better; it just gave him a face to put the obnoxious voice to. He couldn't help the way his lip curled.

"Yeah," he said huskily, "all blue eyed and blonde and dreamy. The things I'd have you do to me," he shook his gelled head, "Sorry. It was just, I've seen you blow off five people in the past hour and you keep staring at the door like a serial killer. So, you got me curious. What's your story? Waiting for someone? Closet case? Really unfortunate wing-man?"

Dodge breathed heavily out through his nose. "I am annoyed," He brushed the hand on his bicep off--with a little more force than necessary if the man's wince was anything to go by--and took a deliberate step back, "And not interested. Good-bye."

Sparing a quick nod, he left the half empty bottle standing on the rail, and began weaving through the crowd of people smashed together on the second floor. It was a relief, leaving the greasy gelled man gaping and stunned behind him, but it was not enough. He felt like he needed a break. Maybe to go to the bathroom and splash some water on his face or something to calm his nerves. He was jittery and strung out and--

He wandered aimlessly, trying to find another quiet spot he could observe from. Dodge ran a hand over his face, as he stepped over a wet puddle of what he hoped was merely alcohol.

A flash of red caught his eye on the floor below.

It was a Saturday evening and _Eden_ was packed, but it didn't matter. When Newt stepped into the room, awkwardly tugging at the hem of her dress and looking around with a nervous smile on her lips, Dodge saw her. Dodge saw her and he was decidedly unimpressed with just how much _more_ relief the sight of his partner brought him. He _wanted_ to go back to being the tall intimidating figure no one wanted to talk to because Newt was there to take the lead. He wanted that so bad, but he couldn't, not yet, not with the goal of the night even remotely close to settled but--

"Breathe, _compañero_."

Newt. In his communicator. He gripped the railing attached to the see-through staircase and Dodge blinked. When did he...?

"Breathe, Dodge " Newt repeated, and Dodge had to look at her. Had to see how Newt managed to be both herself and not all the time. So, he watched.

Newt still had that nervous smile on her face when she finally took a few awed steps into the club. She was timidly looking around, clumsily bumping into people as they brushed past, but when she finally did look up to the second floor, her eyes immediately fell on Dodge. And they're bright; her eyes, immensely intelligent but edged with something sharp and deadly. They were _Newt's_ eyes, not that persona she was wearing and Dodge felt something settle in him at the sight.

Newt tilted her head to the side--contemplating, cataloguing, taking in Dodge's no doubt frantic expression before looking away with a nod to herself. She took a breath and it was deep. Held it, wiped her hands on her dress, and let it out. She repeated the action, once. Twice. Thrice. Dodge found himself doing the same.

" _Que buena?"_ Newt asked after a minute, eyes trained back on Dodge when he was finished, and it was still Newt talking. The same righteous eyes, the same crisp, professional tone.

Dodge nodded. Released his death grip on the railing. Shakily he said. "I'm good."

" _Bueno_ ," Dodge could hear Newt mentally preparing to put her persona back on, "I'll meet you down by the bar in thirty, _si?_ You'll hit on me. Buy me a drink. I'll giggle, pretend to feel super flattered, offer you a dance and we'll compare notes, regroup and split up again if necessary. Clear?"

"Understood."

"In the meantime, I'll put on my slutty pants and see what I can find."

Dodge huffed. It was the quiet little sound he knew Newt knew was a laugh. "You're wearing a dress."

"Semantics, _mi amigo,"_ He could feel Newt's eye-roll through the comm, "N, out."

The communicator went silent and he watched as Newt fell back into Francesca. It was a physical thing, a wave that ran through Newt's body. Her frame lost its precise edge, her eyes became soft and vulnerable. She actually had something on her lips that looked more like a smile than the strained vaguely worried grimace that never seemed to reach her eyes.

Francine walked normally, nothing conservative about the motions, nothing like the silent fluid grace Newt naturally had. Dodge took another breath and straightened. Already Newt as Francesca had managed to strike an awkward conversation with someone. Francesca was blushing, looking nervous but happy with the predatory look on the man's face. Dodge frowned and shook his head. Looking around himself, Dodge knew he needed to do the same.

It was not a matter of emotion. Of like or dislike. They came here for a reason.

Spotting his first query of the night, a youngish looking brunette woman who was probably about as likely to tell him something about the people who went missing here as try to get into his pants, he began to make his way over.

Suddenly, his wrist began to burn.

Dodge hissed, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth against the pain. He huffed a breath through his nose and looked at his wrist.

The Circlet. It was burning, glowing a deep molten gold. He looked up to Newt who was doing an admirable job of appearing wholly unaffected by the sudden flare shooting through her arm. It was a summons. An urgent one. A call from the head of the Locust's to Sanctuary immediately.

Newt and Dodge made eye contact, a silent message being passed between the two of them.

They made their escape.


	21. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 1]

 

**It** **was a quiet evening,** the setting California sun dripping down towards the sea. The limo weaved through the Malibu hills with the curving cadence of the road. To the right was harsh cliffside, high and sharp and rocky, sections of it ground into mounds of fine clay. To the left was nothing but miles of roiling Pacific waves. 

It was pretty, Ozzie supposed, despite the fact that the observation seemed slightly off, like a figment born in the corner of his eye--there and gone in a blink--he couldn't quite match the thought with the feeling--or perhaps it was wiser to say there were no feelings associated with the thought. He blinked numbly out the window. That seemed more accurate. The view didn't _feel_ pretty. It didn't feel like anything at all. It was simply...there; a static entity that garnered no emotional response. 

Empty. 

Ozzie's gaze was drawn back to the waves, their foamy crests smashing against the cliff face below. It wasn't calm, but that didn't make him feel anything either. It was neither invigorating or soothing. Terrifying or calming. In fact the only thing that came to mind was an image of himself flying off the side of the road, the limo suddenly spinning out of control and dragging him down to a watery grave.

Was it bad if there was a small voice in his head that sort of wished it would happen? 

He continued to stare out the window, wondering if the fall would make a sound. Would there be an explosion? Would the limo crunch against the rocks? Would it simply sink into the deep? He wondered if anyone would see. He wondered if it would hurt. He wondered if anyone would care. He wondered if anyone would look. He hoped not. 

Across from him, James cleared his throat, breaking the silence that seemed to seep out of every stitch, nook and cranny of the vehicle. "You, uh, look good, dude." He said. 

Honestly, it was a pretty cringe worthy attempt at conversation, obviously forced and awkward, but Ozzie could appreciate the effort. Abstractly at least. Enough to maybe _think_ about replying.

Ozzie slowly dragged his eyes away from the cliff's edge and back towards himself. He was dressed up tonight. Properly dressed up - like in a suit and tie and all that fancy stuff that Ozzie never really liked to wear no matter how well it fit. Armani. A half black and half white blazer over a dark gray button up and a matching black and white bow tie. His hair was even styled for the occasion, brushed and gelled up out of his face in a way that he knew people found flattering. 

Ozzie stared at his hands, nails unpainted for the first time in... What felt like a real long time, but he knew it couldn't have been more than a few days. Or was it weeks? Months? Maybe it had been awhile. He couldn't really remember. Time had been a fuzzy, ephemeral thing lately but he was doing better now. After his episode with the good doctor. It was all in his head. Everything he thought he saw. He couldn't trust his mind anymore. The Beast wasn't real and things were a lot better. He had to believe that. For the first time since his parents death he could function.

Sort of.

But sort of was better than nothing.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Ozzie's attention back to James. James licked his lips, nervously wringing his hands together in his lap. Ozzie wondered why. Why, in the sort of fleeting way one wondered why the sky was blue or the ocean was salty. "Are you ready?" Belatedly Ozzie realized he never answered his friend's first question.

"Oh," Ozzie said, slow and kind of tired, "thanks."

James frowned. "What?"

"You look good too."

He gave Ozzie this... _look_ when he said that, one of those furrowed brow, pouty lipped concerned looks that James could pull off so well. It usually made Ozzie feel like he'd done something wrong, a little guilty, a little like he'd just kicked a puppy. In this case though he wasn't really sure why James was giving it to him.

So, Ozzie cocked his head to the side. Blinked at James like he was a particularly interesting puzzle. One he couldn't quite figure out. "You look worried," He said, monotone. Soft. Stated. Detached. "Why?"

James huffed, hands stopping jerkily above his hair like he'd been about to run his fingers through the gelled locks. It was pulled into a slick looking man-bun, one that kept his curls manageable and out of his face. "I shouldn't have brought you along," he said. His lips twisted into a pained smile, "this was a mistake."

"Mmm," Ozzie grunted, rolling his shoulders, "hindsight," he murmured, "it's a bitch." He pointed out the window. "Doesn't matter though," the limo began to slow, rounding a corner and passing through a large wrought iron gate, gravel crunching beneath its wheels. "We're here."

James eyes widened, "crap."

"Language."

"We could still leave," James said, twisting back around in his seat. His voice was sharp with nerves. "Not like anyone's seen us yet. I could just fake sick or something--"

"It's fine James," Ozzie mumbled.

"I mean I _am_ supposed to be an actor now right?" James rambled on, "I can totally get us out of this. Easy-peasy, dude, like--."

" _James_ ," Ozzie managed, raising his voice, finally cutting his friend's tirade off, "I'll be _fine_ ," he stressed. Or well he at least emphasized the 'fine' in the sentence which had to count for something... even if the tonality was completely off.

Oh well.

With that Ozzie gripped the door handle and swung it open. He shifted himself out as he did so, moving before James could stop him. "Let's go." He said, shooting a glance over his shoulder and smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit.

"Jeez, okay, fine, let's do it bro," James grumbled in that low, slow, way of his as he crawled out of the backseat. "Fuck, like why even care anymore amirite? Goodness is never appreciated." 

"Obviously," Ozzie said, cooly, while straightening his tie, "why else do people have a hard-on for vampires and shit?"

"Pretty sure that has more to do with the sensuality and innate sexuality of Vampires in conjunction with the appeal that comes from romanticizing a potentially lethal force and, you know, less to do with the fact that people are dicks," James shrugged, closing the limo door behind him and waving the driver off. The guy was probably going to go park. Then get high. Cause why not? Ozzie totally would do that if he was stuck chauffeuring for a couple of rich dudes. Where? He had no idea. He didn't really care either. 

James stretched, turning his attention back to Ozzie. "Whatever, chicks dig them. Don't know why. Masochists, all of 'em."

Ozzie blinked. "I wasn't actually asking."

He grinned. "I know." James casually threw an arm over Ozzie's shoulder, bringing him close enough to catch a whiff of the other's cologne. Something earthy and fresh. "At least the digs are nice, huh, Oz?"

Ozzie hummed.

They began to climb the steps, glistening marble things decorated with garish handrails and reliefs. Honestly, most of what Ozzie saw of the place seemed over the top, like whoever lived there had something to prove. From the large wrought-iron gate in the front, to the seeming miles of pruned hedges and the little fountain that ran from the front door down to a bigger one that took up half of the immediate walk way. Unnecessary is what it was.

"Oz?"

Though, now that he thought about it...who's house was this again? Obviously, Ozzie was a guest of a _guest_ , the plus one, but he should _probably_ at least know the name of their host. That was good manners. His parents taught him better than that.

"Oz."

Judging by the exterior it had to be someone with major bank. But youngish. Cause these choices were debatable at best. Not refined. Screamed new money, like Gatsby. And the lady or gent had to somehow be tied to Hollywood, cause duh, James, so probably a co-star or like director or producer or the like--

" _Oz_!" James hissed.

Ozzie flinched, blinking furiously as the fog cleared from his head. "Huh?"

"I was just telling our host how much we're digging the digs," James said, nudging his side, gently but there, free arm still wrapped around his shoulders, "real, like, nouveau meets man cave." They probably looked like a couple, Ozzie mused shifting closer to James. Something close to embarrassment swelled in his chest at the thought.

"Host...?" Ozzie blinked again, slower this time, and took in the new surroundings. When had they gotten inside? At some point he--they--had exchanged the over decorated exterior of the mansion for the just as, if not more, decorated interior, complete with fruit art and ice sculptures. 

James frowned. "Yeah dude, Sergio, my co-star, remember?" He nodded in front of him where a fairly attractive male, probably in the tail end of his teens, stood. He wore a suit like the rest of them, his a deep burgundy with matching accents highlighting strips of his hair. 

Ah, Sergio Rossi. Up and coming actor from Spain. Born in Italy though.

He smiled, holding out his hand, "Sergio Rossi, though many call me Sergiy, it is apparently easier for Americans." James scoffed, at that, the sound rumbling down Ozzie's spine. A quick glance towards his friend revealed the other fighting a smirk. Inside joke then.

Cool.

Ozzie took a moment, cataloging the man in front of him before nodding in hello. James gave his side another nudge. Ozzie rolled his eyes.

"You never told me you had such pretty friends, Jamie," Sergio said in his lightly accented English, clearing his throat and bringing his hand awkwardly back down to his side, "it is such a shame this is our first meeting."

" _Una tragedia sono sicuro,_ _Sergiy_."

Sergio raised a brow. "Cheeky."

James laughed nervously, "you have no idea," he huffed out a breath, "So, how, uh, is the new shoot going?"

Sergio brought his gaze back James, smile returning, "Ah! I am glad you asked Jamie, you see--"

Ozzie checked out, let that numbness run over him some more. He breathed a sigh of relief. Like a stone in the sea, he ran on autopilot, letting the waves of his apathy push him through conversation after conversation, offering a word here and there, but mostly being no more engaging than a porcelain doll.

"You're so pretty," one actress giggled, hand hiding her mouth, "How about we get out of here," she bit her pointer finger coyly and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. She, whoever she was, was pretty herself, drop dead gorgeous, with makeup that only accentuated that beauty in a strapless emerald green dress. Most importantly though, she wanted _him. And she was nothing like Cynthia._ Her eyes flickered over to James, "you _and_ your friend."

Well, maybe not.

Ozzie chanced a glance at his 'friend'. James had a grin on his face and a flute of what was probably champagne in his hand. Judging by the light flush on his cheeks and the way his arm had slipped from Ozzie's shoulders to his waist it was probably not his first either. Ozzie shrugged. "If he's okay with it." They looked at James.

A slow smile crawled across his face and he drained the rest of his champagne glass. "Sure," James nuzzled the side of Ozzie's neck affectionately, giving it a little nip at the end, "let's do it."

Ozzie didn't really remember the drive over. He didn't know if they took her limo or theirs. He didn't even know who's house they were in or if it was even a house to begin with. He just remembered hot steamy kisses in a moving vehicle and chests, planes hard and soft, under his hands. 

"Oh my _God_ ," she gasped, "you two are so _hot!_ "

Currently, Ozzie was busy sucking a mark onto the actress' collar, quietly efficient as James moved his head between her thighs, a fact he was only aware of because of how _wet_ it sounded. _Obscene_. That and the hand he had in James' hair.

Together, they ripped another moan from her and she gripped them both, Ozzie on the wrist and James by the hold Ozzie had in his hair. "Up, up," she breathed, chest heaving and glistening in the moonlight, "I want to see you two kiss." She lifted James head, cupped Ozzie's jaw between surprisingly firm fingers, and guided their faces together. James looked...well drunk, but not just in the alcoholic sense. He looked blissed out too, gelled hair curling out of his measured do, eyes blown to hell and lips a deep swollen shade of their usual pink.

Ozzie gulped.

They hovered there, staring at each other, hanging in limbo for what felt like eternity before James finally leaned in, eyes still wide open...

And kissed him.

It was slow at first, their lips barely moving, barely touching. Ozzie could taste the actress on James' tongue, something not wholly unpleasant, but a reminder that she was there, that this kiss wasn't for them.

So, Ozzie groaned into it, burying his other hand in James' hair and tugging it completely free of the bun it was in. He dove into the kiss, hands dancing across his friends cheekbones as he sucked and bit and tore noises he never dreamed of hearing James make from his mouth. James gave back just as hard. His hands roamed up and down Ozzie's sides and they rubbed their groins together, Ozzie trembling with need as he tossed his head back, eyes blinking back open, coming face to face with--

A corpse.

Where the actress had sat mere moments before was a corpse, her jaw unhinged and voice creaking through the disfigured jaw like sandpaper over wood.

"So beautiful you both are," her hands reached out to Ozzie, bits of flesh falling off as her bony sinew lined fingers reached for him, " _come to mommy, show me a good time._ "

Ozzie yelled, the sound ripped from his lungs as he scrambled back, but suddenly there was another pair of arms behind him holding him in place. _James_.

" _Come on dude_ ," came James' distorted voice, whispering in his ear, hands around his waist like some sick promise, " _mummy knows best_."

"No," Ozzie whimpered.

The corpse actress kept crawling to him. 

"No!" Ozzie yelled again.

She moved closer, movements jerky as a mannequin. He could feel her now, draping herself on his lap, warm and sticky with a coppery scent that was much too cloying. A hand dragged itself up his naked torso to rest on his cheek. A scarlet path was left in its wake.

" _Give, mummy a kiss_." She breathed, baring herself over him. Her other arm jerkily began making its way up to grasp the other side of his face.

Ozzie stared wide eyed and shook his head. He kept his mouth closed.

 " _No_?" The corpse actress cocked her head to the side, her scalp sliding off in the process.  She paused, her hands stopping their gentle circling motion across his cheeks, " _help your brother out James."_

" _With pleasure mummy_ ," James' hands began to splay lower, traveling down, past the trail of hair there, down to--

_No_.

Ozzie jerked. Neck tensing. Tears running down his face. Slick warmth covering him. He trembled between the two corpses. Shaking his head. Screaming: _no, no, no_. His eyes were glued in front of him. To that horrid scalp-less _thing_.

_No_.

James twisted his wrist and Ozzie gasped, caught, and the corpse actress surged forward, humming in delight, nails digging into his face, Ozzie _screamed_.

_NO_!

Convulsed in their grasp as something began to spew into his mouth--

_NO_!

Bitter and vile and the corpses trembled with him groaning in ecstasy as they expelled their toxic essence down his throat--

Ozzie bolted out of bed. He blindly stumbled down the hall, knocking into photos and tripping down stairs. He banged his elbow against the wall-- hands covered his mouth. His eyes were wild and untamed and he threw open the bathroom door. The toilet. He had to get to the toilet--

("What's going on?!" Someone, it sounded like Toni, said frantically in the background.

"I don't know! He just flipped out! Ran down here!" That was James, sounding just as panicked.

"Panic attack?"

"I don't _know_! Maybe!?" Oh God. _James_.)

Bile spewed out his mouth and he crumbled to his knees, heaving into the porcelain bowl. Shaking. Shivering. Crying. He gasped.

"Just a dream," he mumbled, "Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a--"

He puked again.

"--dream," he choked out, knuckles white against the rim, " _fuck_ ," he hissed, "just a mother fucking _dream_." He squeezed his legs together. Almost threw up again when he felt the stickiness in his boxers run down his thighs.

" _Just a dream."_


	22. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [1 2]

**"Uh-huh," Toni was saying, her voice** sounding strangely muffled to Ozzie's ears, "that's right," she said.

There was an almost dream-like quality to the words, more like echoes, and as they bounced around aimlessly in his skull that was the one thing he could really latch onto. Not their meaning or who she was talking to but the eerie way in which they vibrated into the blank spaces his mind had dug into itself.

It was almost jarring. If only he could say why.

So he laid there, wherever there was, strangely detached from the conversation taking place and waited, though for what he wasn't sure. Probably for either the talking to stop or for something more interesting to come along, whichever came first he guessed.

"James'll bring him now," Toni said, continuing in that oh so steady tone of hers. She was like a rock; always solid. Unshakable. It was soothing, "He had a bad attack this morning...passed out right after."

 _What?_ He thought, curious as what she said finally struck home a few moments later. The fuck. Well that piqued his interest. He found himself fighting against the strange darkness around him, wanting to find out more. _Who passed out?_

"No, I don't know what triggered it-- Oz was-- Well--" Toni took a breath, gathering her thoughts, "It was a nightmare but I don't know what it was about."

 _Oz--? Wha--_ he thought a little groggily. He felt like he was missing something, something important, something that his sluggish brain should be getting or remembering, but like a dumbass wasn't. _Me? She's talking about me. I passed out. Why would I--_

The moment Ozzie realised what he was hearing was real and not a figment of his imagination he whined, low in this throat, and awkwardly rolled onto his side. His vision swam, eyes blinking almost drunkenly in and out as his consciousness finally forced the last dredges of sleep away.

He winced, slowly opening his eyes against the light he could feel leaving warm patterns against his lids. A softly uttered "fuck" parted his lips on a shaky exhale as he did so.

Dragging a hand across his face, Ozzie took a breath and tried to figure out just where in the house he was. Ignoring the fact his head hurt like a mother and his mouth tasted like something died in it; there was the tell-tale crink in his neck from sleeping on the couch that he swore was spawned by Satan himself and the light - filtered through diaphanous drapes - cut through the gaps left between his fingers like tiny obnoxious needles. The living room then. Someone (James) must've moved him from the bathroom after passing out. Great. His lips thinned at the thought.

"Yes, James will...I'll pick him up...no...," there was a pause in the conversation, one in which Ozzie could just make out the sound of faint footfalls coming closer, "uh-huh...yes... I know but I have some things to take care of first." The footsteps stopped just behind him, settling by the arm of the lumpy couch from hell, and Ozzie got the distinct prickling feeling he got whenever someone was staring at him. "If that's all..." Toni trailed off, voice noticeably louder; Ozzie shifted the hand over his face to peek up at his aunt, "uh-huh... Goodbye, see you soon." She ended the call and set the cordless phone to the side, but that was a detail that barely flickered on Ozzie's radar. No. He was too busy staring at the icy calm plastered over his aunt's face.

Ozzie groaned, moving the crook of his arm over his eyes. He didn't feel like dealing with this.

"Dr. Nelson?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes and you're going. _Now_ ," her tone brokered no room for argument.

"Figured."

She huffed. Another moment passed. "James is taking you," she said. A lazy hum crawled its way from the back of Ozzie's throat.

"Great," he drawled.

"Well," Toni let out a frustrated breath and Ozzie could hear her fingers drumming impatiently against the faded leather of the couch as she tried to decide what to say next. It was petty and no small amount of childish but Ozzie lay there, letting the quiet stretch. He was more than happy to let it fade from tense to awkward. Toni clicked her tongue.

"Get ready then." There was a sudden rush of air as she turned around and then a, "and stop acting like such a teenager. It ain't cute, Ozzie and it ain't gonna win any points with me either." Silence. She was gone.

Ozzie scoffed and dropped his arm down to his side. "Whatever," he grumbled. His arm hung loosely over the edge of the couch, fingers brushing against the wooly carpet almost idly. He stared blankly at the ceiling, smooth and white. A hand tugged at his hair.

_She's right you know, you're being childish._

_So what? She's not the one who keeps finding dead people._

_Suck it up Ozzie, whining about it isn't gonna change anything._

_But it'll make me feel better. I feel like shit._

_You always feel like shit._

_Yeah well, wonder why._

_You didn't take your meds last night._

_I was tired._

_Not an excuse._

_Then what is?_

_You shouldn't do this to them._

_You're a burden. (No I'm not)_

_A fuck up. (I know I'm not)_

_Dead weight. (Shut-up)_

_If only you told James and Clint to fuck off with their clubbing plans. (There was no way for me to know. Stop it)_

_Dumb. (Stop it)_

_Pathetic. (Stop it)_

_If only you took your meds. (I just wanted to sleep.)_

_Waste of space. (Stop it)_

_If only you didn't go outside. (Couldn't have known. Couldn't have known.)_

_Why do you exist? (I don't know, dude I'm not fucking Descartes.)_

_If only- If only- If only- If only- Sucks dick doesn't it--_

_(I just want to be a kid. I never got to be one. I want to be child. Let me be child just for ONCE--)_

YOU. ARE. NOT. A. CHILD.

"Fuuuuck!" He tasted copper on his lips, his free hand digging sharp little halfmoons into his palm and he squeezed his eyes shut, hard enough to leave spots in his vision. He inhaled deeply through his nose. Opened his eyes.

Wearily Ozzie got up and trekked back to his room.


	23. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 3]

13.

 **James was face down on Ozzie's bed** when he walked into the bedoom. He could see the ebony curls jutted out at random angles like he'd been running a hand through them right before falling asleep and Ozzie couldn't help rolling his eyes at the sight. _Fucking cat,_ he thought.

As he watched, James' head shifted so that it was pillowed against his arm, his left leg sticking off the edge of the mattress while his body curled into the one streak of sunlight that reached him, like - well - the cat Ozzie thought he was. All he was missing was a pair of whiskers and a tail.

A light snore whistled past the older boy's lips and Ozzie snorted. It had almost sounded like a purr. He shook his head. _Such a fucking cat_. He took off his shirt, balling it up before chucking it at his napping friend. "Get up," he mumbled. He wasn't too sure his voice would carry but he probably didn't need it to, not when the shirt carried well enough on its own.

It sailed through the air, unfurling completely just before it draped itself across his friend's face. The other boy jerked awake, spluttering and cursing as the fabric got stuck between his lips. "Huh?! Wha-? Shit- Fuck! _Gross_ dude!" James pulled the shirt away from his mouth, his nose wrinkled in disgust, "man, didn't you _puke_ in this?!"

Ah. Yeah. That's right. Probably why it'd reeked so much. Whoops.

Ozzie shrugged, padding lightly towards his chest of drawers, and pulled his bottom lip idly between his teeth."Turn around a sec," he said, free hand playing with the hem of the shorts he was wearing, "gonna put my pants on."

"Yeah, yeah," James grumped, turning to face the wall, "god you're a shit."

"Sorry." James just grunted in response.

For a few moments the only sound was that of rustling fabric and faint breathing. Ozzie quickly shimmied out of his shorts, tossing them aside and grabbing the first pair of briefs he saw (they had Captain America's shield in a repeating motif across them) before slipping on a loose fitting pair of sweats.

James shot a glance over his shoulder. "You good?"

"Peachy," Ozzie deadpanned, looking for a new shirt or _something_ to wear. His chest was getting cold. "Pass me that hoodie." He nodded to the mound of white sitting between his bed and his window.

James stretched to look over the edge. "Which one?" he asked.

"I only have one."

"The Marvel one?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Ouch," James frowned and tossed Ozzie the hoodie, "no need to be so testy Romanoff."

"Sorry," Ozzie sighed and tugged the hoodie over his head, "Tired."

"No problem, bro," James rolled his shoulder and pushed himself off the bed. He twisted his back, letting out a satisfied groan when it cracked, "you had a rough night."

"Yeah," _we both did_. Ozzie opened and closed his fists. He could still see it when he closed his eyes. Her body. Haley's body. The body of a teenage girl he didn't even know.

It made him sick.

Shaking his head, Ozzie joined James by the window where the other boy already had a cigarette dangling between his lips. He offered one to Ozzie who gratefully accepted it with a soft "thanks dude".

"Fuck," he said after his first puff. The nicotene did a little for the trembling in his hands but not much else, "wish this was weed."

James hummed in agreement, blowing a long stream of smoke from his mouth. "I'll sneak some past Toni for you later."

"Thanks man."

James waved his hand noncommittally. "No problem."

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence, letting the noon day sounds of traffic and typical city bluster wash over them. Ozzie tilted his head up, sunlight brushing gentle fingers over his face and he felt something in him settle just a bit more.

"You ready to see old Nelly then?" James asked stubbing out his cigarette on the windowsill and flicking it down into the alley way below. He cleared his throat, spitting out the window, "we really should be heading out soon if I'm gonna be taking you, y'know."

He let the words wash over him while Ozzie took a few more silent puffs of his cigarette, head tilted so the sun could warm his face a little longer. Everything seemed a little more vibrant with the rain gone. Ozzie couldn't help but notice. It was as if LA got some of its mojo back, smells a little crisper, colours a little bolder, laughs a little louder. The gray that had stuck to everything for the past three days finally seemed to be bleeding away. It was...a relief in a way.

Nothing had changed in his life, Ozzie knew - well actually in the past twenty-four hours it had gotten even worse - but seeing that the rest of the world kept spinning with or without him was strangely cathartic. No matter how shit his life was, in the end he was nothing but a tiny blip on the Earth's six billion year old timeline. A subatomic nineteen years. Hardly a sneeze.

Insignificant.

He liked it that way.

Ozzie ground out his cigarette in much the same way James had and nodded. "As I'll ever be," he sighed.

James squeezed his shoulder."Okay then," he closed the window, bathing the room in the kaleidoscopic light of the stained glass window that the Archangel Raphael stared impassively  out of and Ozzie blinked, cocking his head to the side as if just realizing James was beside him.

He grinned, a little sheepish and a bit sad, the smile nothing like the one James gave to the cameras. But that was okay because _this_ one wasn't for them. It was for Ozzie, small and tired and wrenchingly honest in a way no photo-op or paparazzi could ever capture.

It tugged at something in Ozzie, something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. He could see the dark circles standing out like faint violet bruises underneath his eyes. The way that even if James' smile was real there was still an edge of pain that kept it from really being _happy_ and that. That was _his_ fault.

Cuffing Ozzie lightly on the back of the head, James brought their foreheads together, smile just a little bit wider at Ozzie's disgruntled expression. "Let's go yeah?" He said, pulling away. _Don't worry about me._

"Idiot," Ozzie grumbled, smoothing out his hair with not so amused glare. He sighed, pulling his hood over his head and swiping his glasses off the bedside table. "Come on then."

He skulked out the door, hands shoved in his hoodie's pockets and it was only when he heard James laugh, a sound less pained then the haunted look in his eyes, that Ozzie allowed himself the ghost of a smile.


	24. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 4]

**14.**

**Dr. Nelson's office was as artificially** welcoming as it always was. Everything had its place, from the couch with it's ill-structured patterns to the quietly humming speakers in the corners of the walls still spouting idyllic whale noises almost a year later. It was calculated - painstakingly so - like a model home or an IKEA ad, so precise and deliberate in its positioning that it could never truly be hospitable.

(Funnily enough, it was that realization that finally let Ozzie relax against the firm leather he was sitting on, not that it gave much under his weight even then.)

There were a couple new additions to the room that he could spot though. One was more obvious than the other. First was the decidedly childish 'feelings' poster mounted on what used to be a blank space on the right wall. On it was a cartoonish seascape with different fish and aquatic creatures - a seahorse, a couple sea urchins, a baby octopus - all with exaggerated expressions ranging from sadness to joy. ' _How are you feeling today?'_ it read in bubbly yellow letters at the top.

He scoffed inwardly, pulling the hem of his hoodie up to cover his mouth. _Like the luckiest guy alive_ , Ozzie thought sarcastically.

His eyes traveled to his left, landing on the second change - and this was the obvious one - the one he'd noticed the moment he had walked through the door. It was a sandbox, small and seemingly inoffensive where it was sitting in the middle of the coffee table he now sat behind. It was a little thing, no larger than a sheet of paper and a couple inches in height but to Ozzie it was as damning as a noose.

You see, nothing good ever came with the sandbox.

There was a faint squeaking sound and Ozzie jerked his head up as Dr. Nelson rolled himself into the room. "Apologies for the delay, Ozzie," he said, "the last patient ran a little over." The doctor pushed himself down a small beige ramp, his trusty pen and memo-pad already resting in his lap. The yellow paper was studiously turned to a blank page. He came to a stop on the other side of the coffee table, directly across from Ozzie, a placating smile on his lips while he ran a hand through the few sweaty gray hairs he had left on his head, "you know how these things go," the doctor flipped the brakes on the side of his wheelchair, "emotions are truly unpredictable things."

Ozzie nodded, legs pulled up to his nose so only the amber of his eyes showed. He did know how these things went, just as he knew how incredibly fickle feelings could be.

Dr. Nelson clicked his pen. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Sure doc," Ozzie mumbled, voice as raspy and raw as it always was. He winced.

"Excellent," the doctor said, smiling again and Ozzie couldn't help but think about how the curl of his lips looked fake as fuck... not that he could judge, "so tell me Ozzie--" _here we go_ , "how are you feeling?"

 _Sick of that question_.

Raising his head just enough to uncover his mouth, Ozzie rested his chin on his knees, "I feel," he began, clearing his throat when his words cracked off his cords. He looked out the window, watching foamy waves crash against the seashore below, "well--"  he opened his mouth. Closed it. Bit his lip. Took a breath. Settled on saying, "bad." He cringed.

 _That was eloquent_.

"Uh-huh," Dr. Nelson hummed, scribbling a few words down on his pad, no doubt noting his reaction, "care to elaborate? Why are you feeling _'bad'?"_

"How much do y'know?" He countered, head cocked to the side. _Fuck_. Ozzie grimaced, watching the doctor write something else down. _Stop it._ He told himself. _This isn't an interrogation. Your trust issues with authority are showing._

"Just the bare bones of the situation," Nelson stated, looking up from his notes, "I know you had an... eventful morning triggered by something that happened last night. And a nightmare. Is that correct?"

Ozzie nodded slowly, "yeah," a pause, "you could say that."

"Okay," the doctor set his pen to the side, eying Ozzie critically, "you're tense Ozzie," he said suddenly, "am I making you uncomfortable?"

 _No_. Ozzie blinked. _Shit. Yes._ He hadn't even really noticed but--

 _Everything makes me uncomfortable_.

"A little, yeah," Ozzie took a shuddering breath and loosened the death grip he had on his shins. Calm down. _Calm down, man. This is why people think you're crazy._ His shoulders were still coiled and it did nothing for the bees buzzing in his stomach, but it was a start.

"Should we talk about something else for the moment, then?"

Ozzie scoffed. "Like what," he mumbled, dry as the sand on the beach, "the weather?"

"If you'd like," the doctor shrugged, "it was raining the past few days. I know you didn't like that."

"Pass."

"Okay. How about your birthday? You're nineteen now, it's been two years since your parent's death correct?"

Ozzie narrowed his eyes, hands tightening around the fabric against his shins. So much for calming down. "Hard-pass. Rather talk about the nightmare."

Dr. Nelson clicked his pen and smiled, straightening in his chair, "then let's talk about that."

 _Shit_.

Ozzie regarded the doctor cooly and shook his head. "You're a sneaky fuck. I jus' want you to know that."

"I haven't the vaguest," Nelson said, "now this nightmare."

Ozzie sighed. His eyes flickered back to the poster on the wall. ' _How are you feeling Haley?'_

Dead, probably.

That was a sobering thought.

"I guess," he took a breath, "you should probably - uh - know... I - uh - sorta found a body," he mumbled, "at a club," he glanced back up at Dr.Nelson, "last night." The doctor was doing a fairly admirable job at looking unphased by this revelation, only a faint twitch of a salt and pepper brow showing he'd heard, "S'was in a alley. I--I needed air and so I--I--uh--stepped outside? I don't know. You might have heard about this already?"

Dr. Nelson nodded. "It was on the news this morning. Club Limbo I believe? Tragedy."

"Yeah, that's the one," Ozzie's fingers bunched themselves around his knees. He took another trembling breath and bit his lip, "so I found her. Haley. And _shit_ , it was a fuckin' mess. Like. She didn't have her - uh - her - her _head_? Christ," his voice cracked and Ozzie had the most bizarre desire to slap himself, "shit," his voice wobbled, "sorry," he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, "sorry. Just... Just give me a sec."

"Deep breaths Ozzie," the doctor nudged the sandbox towards him, "feel free to draw if it will help calm you down."

Fuck that sandbox.

"I don't draw, you know that," nevertheless, Ozzie dragged the sandbox into his lap and began idly trailing a finger through it.

"Whenever you're ready, continue."

"Okay," Ozzie sniffed, "okay, yeah."

Clearing his throat, he continued.

"So...she had no head. But she also didn't like really have a...like - uhm - _chest_ either? It was sorta cracked open like...I don't know...a weird...lotus maybe? It...like...really, really sucked. Like so bad..." he trailed off, swirling his finger in the sand, "but James's the one who found me and that was kinda almost worse."

"Why?"

Ozzie tensed. "Because he's my friend."

"And?" Dr. Nelson questioned.

"And-and _nothing_ ," he jerked his head up glaring, glasses going askew across his nose, "he's my friend. He shouldn't hafta see that. Not again," he whispered.

"Ah."

"Ah, _what_?" Ozzie said, voice drenched with thinly veiled suspicion.

"Ah, nothing," Dr. Nelson said, bringing his hands to the middle of his lap. He gave Ozzie a reassuring smile. Ozzie glared back.

"Stop saying, ' _ah_ '," Ozzie mumbled after a few tense moments, gaze dropping back down to the sandbox resting on his thighs, "s'weird."

"Got you to calm down though."

"Whatever," he grumbled.

"Yes, back to the matter at hand," the doctor said. Ozzie couldn't help but frown at the sudden shift. Nelson was always so quick to change the subject. At least when it suited him, "the nightmare?"

_Well..._

"I had a threesome with James and an actress and they turned into zombies," Ozzie deadpanned, "and they still tried to get me off."

_You did ask._

Dr. Nelson blinked. "...Ah."

_Not what you expected?_

Sugar-coating things was never his forte anyway. That was more James' thing. Probably why people liked him so much.

"I said to stop saying that."

Dr. Nelson cleared his throat, "yes of course. Apologies. Terribly rude of me," he smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt and composed himself once more, "so you had a sex dream with your best friend that went rather... _sour_...is that correct."

"Yeah," Ozzie nodded, "though...I-I guess really the only part that was a _dream_ was...the - uh - zombie bit," he worried his lip between his teeth, shoulders hunched and fingers tightly grasping the wooden edges of the sandbox like it could somehow shield him from what he was about to say, "the threesome bit...that - uh - actually happened..." he winced, blush creeping up his neck at the admission.

"And this all happened last night," Dr. Nelson asked, an air of disbelief coloring his words.

"Yes," Ozzie nodded jerkily, "wait no. _No_. The threesome happened like a year ago."

"I see."

"I - uh - hardly remember it," _if that helps,_ "they had me on so many drugs," a pause, "the doctors - not - uh - James....He wouldn't do that."

_I sound like an idiot._

"That's good to know, Ozzie," the doctor said soothingly, "he's a, ah, good friend."

"Yeah..." Ozzie mumbled. He looked back down, resolutely staring at the whirls and lines he made in the sand. A minute passed. Two. Three. Finally Dr. Nelson broke the silence.

"Are you ashamed of the nightmare?" He asked softly.

Ozzie shook his head, a crease marring the smoothness of his brow. "No, s'was just a dream," his grip on the sandbox tightened once more. "Everyone has them." He didn't look up.

"You threw up when you woke up, Ozzie."

He tensed. "I know, I was there."

"Then fainted"

"And?" Ozzie bit out.

"It's not abnormal to find pleasure in pain."

"'m not a masochist."

"I didn't say you were," Dr. Nelson said, "sometimes that happens though. You certainly wouldn't be the first person to have had a disturbing sex dream. Besides you're a teenager," he chuckled, "a strong breeze is enough for you at this point. It doesn't make you a freak, Ozzie."

"I - I _know_ that," Ozzie said, running a hand through his hair, slightly damp at the root with sweat, and stared down at his shoes, "I do," he said, "I just," he rubbed his thumb against his lip. Bit the tip of it, "I feel _guilty_."

"And that's a completely normal response Ozzie, but," the doctor waited for him to look up, "remember none of this is your fault. Okay?" Ozzie looked away. "Ozzie, look at me, please," it took a moment but eventually he acquiesced. "Good. Now say it with me."

"Say what?" He mumbled.

"' _It's not my fault_ '."

"I--," Ozzie shook his head, "I can't. James--"

"You can make sure he's okay after this, alright? We'll end here. Just say it with me."

"I--," Ozzie bit his thumb, eyes nervously bouncing between the doctor, the window and the sandbox in his lap, "I--"

"Just once, Ozzie."

He takes a breath.

"Okay."

"Excellent," Dr. Nelson beamed at him, "on the count of three. One--"

Ozzie gulped.

"--two--"

He set the sandbox back on the coffee table.

"--three--"

"It's--" Ozzie took a fortifying breath, "s'not my fault..."

It wasn't a very convincing exclaimation, even Ozzie could hear that, how wavery and slurred towards the end the words were, but it seemed to do the trick for Dr. Nelson who promptly clapped his hands like a parent at their kids graduation, looking pleased as could be.

"Thank-you, Ozzie," he said brightly while making a few last minute notes on his memo-pad, "your Aunt should be waiting in the lobby by now, so I won't keep you waiting, but do me a favour will you?"

"What?"

"Two things. One I'd like you to do this affirmation every morning and evening for the foreseeable future. Just say it in the mirror, when you wake up and get ready for bed, okay?"

Ozzie rolled his eyes, "fine."

"Secondly," and Dr. Nelson looked him straight on for this one, "I want you to start your feelings journal again. At least until this blows over."

 _Ugh_.

"... Fine," he repeated bitterly.

"Wonderful," Dr. Nelson popped the brakes on his chair and rolled himself out of Ozzie's way, "I'll see you on Wednesday then," he gestured towards the door, "Have a good week and feel free to call if anything comes up."

Ozzie shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, jaw set and lips pursed in a thin line, "'Course, doc, say the same thing every week," he waved over his shoulder, halfway to the door ' _Caio_ ' on the tip of his tongue when--

"Wonderful drawing by the way," Dr. Nelson called, "you really should consider art school."

Ozzie froze.

"What?"

Turning, Ozzie could see that Dr. Nelson had dragged the sandbox over to his side of the table, a small frown creeping over his brow as he peered down at it's contents. _Like a witch and a tea-cup_ Ozzie mused. It wasn't particularly _off_ to see, really it made sense. Obviously the doctor would make note of whatever he was drawing. No. The odd thing was that Ozzie _hadn't_ drawn anything. At least nothing to warrant a reaction like that. He would know.

Right?

Slowly, he leaned forward to take a look himself.

"The likeness truly is striking, even with just the sand," Dr. Nelson marveled, hands hovering around the edges of the box.

"Thanks," Ozzie managed, taking a step back. He wished he hadn't seen.

Staring back at him was the face of Haley Matts.  
  
  



	25. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 5]

15.

 **It was probably a good thing that** Dodge was the most socially inept man that Newt had ever met, otherwise there would've been a strong chance of him being horrendously offended by her lack of manners. She knows she would have been. It was a point made doubly true when she considered the fact that she was the one who sent him off on a coffee run in the first place. She grimaced. Well, if there was one thing she could count on (besides Dodge's predictably austere demeanor and frankly dated fashion sense), it was her own ability to compartmentalize. She'd apologize later.

Small mercies, she supposed.

With that in mind, though, Newt kept her eyes glued to the file in her lap, not a smile or 'welcome back' on her tongue but a "It looks solid," parting her lips instead. She said this in lieu of a proper greeting, the words leaving her the moment Dodge opened the door and she distractedly began organizing the notes she'd set on the dashboard while Dodge slipped into the passenger seat beside her. It closed with a faint click, the smell of cheap and no doubt artery clogging food filling the truck in his wake.

"--the intel, the charms, everything," she continued, flipping through a couple more pages, "very solid work," _and very standard too_. Get to the rendezvous, _check_ , pick up the black duffle bag, _check_ , follow the instructions inside... _working on it._ She trailed off, a quiet, thought filled hum filling the silence.

_So why does it seem like we're about to bite off more than we can chew?_

A frown marred her forehead and she could feel the start of a headache beneath that. Her concentration was so shot that no matter how hard she tried, the words didn't make anymore sense than the last five times she'd read them (not to mention she _still_ hadn't properly greeted Dodge). She rubbed her temples and tried again.

 _Inside are the following,_ she read, _two Heart's Envy Draughts for Sapien to Sapien Transfiguration, two See-What-You-Came-For Charms spelled for one time localized illusion work, two labeled vials of blood, two pairs of clothes, a map, and two dossiers,_ both of which were currently in neat stacks on the dashboard. Newt wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel.

_Por Dios._

Because none of that _mattered_. She couldn't find a flaw in the plan. And because she couldn't find a flaw then they'd have to proceed. Despite everything in her - in Dodge, in _them_ \- saying otherwise. Because she knew that this bone deep worry wasn't her own. Not really. It was a foreign entity, bleeding across the tenuous psychic bond the two of them shared like sickly acid, a sludge that slowly corrupted her thoughts black. It was worrying; they only ever felt the strongest of emotions when their circlets weren't donned across their heads.

It was that realisation that made her wish for more time. If they had that, she could properly grill Dodge on that feeling she felt buzzing around in his mind. But they didn't. Their time was up. The intel was perfect, every 'i' dotted and every draught and charm flawlessly prepped. She had no excuses. She had no _time_. She let out a frustrated sigh. _Still.._. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She just hoped that would be enough. " _Órale_ ," she began - with no small amount of disdain, "all that's left now is to-"

"Eat," Dodge said cutting her off tersely. The tone was somehow both protective and judging at once. It was an odd sort of inflection, one she'd yet to hear anyone but Dodge pull off correctly. Of course she couldn't say she'd ever really heard anyone else try.

"The papers will still be here," he said, obviously taking her silence as a (not so unfounded) denial while thrusting a foil wrapped burrito in her face. Newt bit her lip and groaned; the blue-eyed stare he fixed her with now looked much more like a glare. It was comforting though - familiar - how static Dodge was, how open with emotion. He really was easy to read.

"Eat." He repeated. Then he held up one of the coffees like an apology or perhaps it was a misguided peace offering, "I brought coffee. Black. No sugar. Your favorite." She made no move to take it (even though she really, really, should).

"Take it," Dodge said, exasperated. The only difference in his expression now was a tiny crinkle in the middle of his brow. Somehow that made him look even more serious than before.

"Fine," Newt sighed, reaching for the cup, because dammit she needed the caffeine, but Dodge pulled it back. "Food first," he reprimanded, waving the burrito under her nose.

She glared, lips pinching into a line as narrow as her eyes, "tease," she grumbled but complied, snatching the burrito out of the blond's proffered hand and moving the rest of the papers on her lap to the dash. She unwrapped it - aggressively - peeling the foil back with her thumb and forefinger.

"You need your strength," he said, not in the least bit apologetic, "you are useless otherwise. A target."

"Wow," Newt rolled her eyes. She knew what he meant but still. Rude. He could have just said he didn't want her getting hurt or something. She took a bite, and _Bendito_ _sea Dios,_ that was good...not as good as her _Abuelita_ made it and not that she was inclined to let him know that, but good all the same, "there. Happy?"

He nodded and handed her coffee over.

" _Gracias_." Newt pursed her lips.

With a satisfied air, Dodge grunted in response, taking out his own burrito and beginning to eat as well, "finish," he said, jerking his head towards her own food, "then we talk."

With a disgruntled look, Newt took another bite, the edges squelching with sauce and melted cheese. They fell into an easy, albeit anticipatory, silence, the two of them more focused on their food than each other. Or at least Newt was. With Dodge it was hard to tell, though there was still a low level buzz of anxiety that she could feel coiling around the boundaries of their minds. It was faint enough that she couldn't quite be sure if it wasn't just the anticipation talking or if it was Dodge's vehement hate of large cities instead.

Outside, people passed them by, the streets of L.A already becoming crowded despite the early hour. Sunlight peaked through tall concrete buildings, their facades inconsistent and worn. It was a city of mismatched architecture, of personality and gaudy bright lights vying for Newt's attention every which way she turned. It was oddly symbiotic despite looking  haphazard, a culmination of the old and the new, brick and mortar melding with steel and glass.

Newt brought her coffee up to her lips, taking a measured sip of the bitter brew. She was more than a little pleased to discover it had cooled enough for her to drink comfortably. She took a larger gulp, licking her lips clean before setting it back down. Then she took another bite of her burrito.

They were parked in a little lot off  Lexington and Vine, a corner spot in the shade of a few twiggy trees to avoid the heat that would no doubt start creeping up as the day wore on. The spot had the added perk of being fairly out of the way and honestly, Newt couldn't say whether the reason people didn't look at them was because of the _Notice-Me-Not_ wards etched across the frame of their truck or the fact that generally speaking, Angelinos couldn't be assed to care about two random people sitting in a beat up Chevy in the first place.

Considering how the wards worked it was probably a little bit of both.

Dodge cleared his throat - Newt glancing over at the noise - and folded his now empty foil wrapper as neatly as he could. He placed it in the greasy white bag between them. Eying Newt stoically, he held his hands in a rigid fashion on his lap as he waited for her to finish her own food. She swallowed the bite in her mouth.

"Here," she said handing him one of the dossiers. It held the bio and cover story for the female, Natalie Doyle: twenty-six, smart as a whip and, probably most importantly, a Cambi willing to work with them. Natalie was the reason this mission was possible in the first place. If she hadn't given up her persona and stalled her real partner, Javier Vasquez - the man Newt was to shift into - Dodge and Newt would have been shit out of luck, "you can start reading through this," Newt said between measured bites. She was trying with only marginal success to not make an utter mess of her clothing, "It's who you'll be transfigured into, _comprende_? She's a CSI tech, my cover's assistant, so you don't have to do much but follow my instructions and stay out of the way."

Dodge nodded, serious as usual, and carefully took the file from her hand. He flipped it open, pulling out the first page. His eyes were a mask of heavy concentration. Newt left him to it, instead focusing on finishing her own burrito.

It didn't take long for the two to fall back into a companionable silence, once given a task Dodge was almost scarily single-minded. Still, it felt as if it had only been a moment before Dodge was speaking again, "She is _luciftias_ ," the distaste was clear in his voice and as Newt watched, the edges of the manila envelope began to crumple in his grasp, " _superbia_ , prideful. A liar by nature." Newt sighed. _Merde, s_ he should have seen this coming.

"She's a Cambi, Dodge, not one of the _Fallen,_ " she reasoned, "she's her own person."

"We do not need help from the Fallen's children."

"She's as human as us, Dodge," she paused to take a breath, "and last I checked we can't use magic so yeah, we kind of do."

"She's _tainted_ ," he growled, "I will _not_ wear her skin."

Newt glared. "You will, Dodge, because it's your fucking job," she jabbed a finger accusingly in his direction, narrowing her eyes, "We're Locusts, _lo tengo_. We don't get to be picky. _You_ don't get to fuck this up. So suck it up and be a _man_ , _hermano_." Dodge opened his mouth to retort, but Newt beat him to it.

" _Don't_ test me."

The two of them locked eyes, brown meeting blue in a clash of wills. Newt could see every flex of his jaw as close as they were, and Dodge ground his teeth together, visibly debating his response. There was a fire in those irises, one echoed in the psychic tether of their minds. She could _feel_ just how much he hated what they had to do as well as she could read it off the tense planes of his shoulders and the roiling shift of muscle  underneath his skin.

But just as she could feel his anger and rage like curdled milk in her stomach, she could feel _him_ caving to _her_ own will. Because she was right. They had a job to do and if there was one thing Dodge took more seriously than his prejudices it was his job. It was his duty. And if that meant wearing the skin of a no-nonsense 'tainted' Cambi girl then so be it.

Dodge looked away, sighing, the tension flowing out of his body in one sharp exhale. "Fine," he grit out, obviously pained at the utterance, "what do we do now?"

Newt smiled, though it was a little strained, "Now we get to work--" she chugged the last of her, now lukewarm, coffee down with a few thick swallows and stuffed her empty burrito wrapper in the same greasy off-white bag Dodge threw his trash away in, "--and I guess hope our food still agrees with us after all this is over..." She winced at Dodge's curled lip at the admission. "I'm sure we have nothing to worry about, _mijo_."

Reaching back to the backseat, she grabbed the straps of the duffle bag stored there and brought it to rest between the console and themselves. Peeling back the flap, she grabbed the first set of bottles, placing them on the dash above the steering wheel. One was an iridescent oily color, swirling and sparkling like a particularly translucent nailpolish. The other was a deep burgundy, one of the two blood vials, and barely the size of her thumb. On its side was an elegantly scripted 'A' in thick black ink.

"This one's yours," Newt said after her quick examination of the bottles. She slid them over to Dodge who took them wordlessly. Reaching back into the duffle bag, she took out the last two bottles, leaving the clothes beneath them alone for the moment. One was the same shimmering semi-opaque substance as the first and the second was a small bottle of blood labeled 'B'.

"This must be me," Newt rolled the two vials carefully between her fingers before setting them down.

Dodge eyed the two bottles in his hand suspiciously. "Now what." It wasn't a question, it was a demand. _I will not go quietly._

"Now," Newt pulled a loose leaf of paper over to her. It was covered in a garish font, the words ' _Thank you for choosing Heart's Envy!'_ written on the top, "we read." She held the paper up between them, giving Dodge a pointed look.

 _Tired of living in the shadows?_ She read. _Jealous of another's success? Want to make them miserable? Look no further, for 'Heart's Envy' may be the option for you!_

 _Simply add the blood of the object of your misery_ _(wow!)_ _a drop of your own (ooooo!) And shake three times until inky black to steal their form and ruin their lives forever! Now with a new minty flavor!_

_Warning! Not for the faint of heart! Side-effects may include horrible agony, loss of body parts, sagging flesh, muddled voice, and under very rare occasions death. User discretion is advised._

Newt wrinkled her nose as she got to the end. " _Ay Dios mio_ , who would ever willingly take this?"

"The desperate," Dodge said before uncapping the two bottles. He glared down at them like they'd personally offended him, which Newt supposed they had in a way considering his stance on Cambi and all things demonic in nature, "I hate mint," he sniffed sharply before pouring the blood into the potion. He then took his thumb between his teeth and _bit_ until the flesh tore and a few drops of his own blood joined that of Natalie's.

Capping the draught, he shook it up and down precisely three times - as instructed, watching as the magic turned the potion into a thick tar-like black.

"That is actually a little terrifying," Newt said. Dodge shrugged, seeming just a bit smug, and uncapped the _Heart's Envy_ again. Single-mindedly, he downed it all in one gulp. He raised an eyebrow as if in challenge and Newt rolled her eyes, though she got the message, quickly following suit (she took the cleaner approach and simply pricked her finger with her knife).

With one last look of trepidation, she choked down the potion, her face pinching at the rank taste and slimy consistency. "That's _foul_ ," she gagged, sticking her tongue out of her like that'd make the taste fade faster, "minty flavor my ass."

Dodge huffed in response, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards with the barest hint of a smile.

"Don't give me that look," Newt said, "you drank it too."

Dodge nodded, and Newt decided to ignore the fact that his lips kept twitching despite what she said. That wasn't really all that important right now. Instead she began organizing their things and mentally running through the facts of her part of the mission one last time.

Javier Vasquez, her alias for this job,  was 35 and a senior crime scene investigator. He and his partner Natalie Doyle were called down from their work up north due to similarities between the death of Haley Matts and a pair of twins killed outside a club called _Pandemic_ up north by Stanford. A bit of a stretch but not one to be ruled out completely since the Moonlight Killer, as he was dubbed, was never found.

Once on scene they were to find Chief Davis who would be the one in charge. He also, assuming Natalie did her part, should be expecting their arrival. Once past that obstacle, she and Dodge would take gratuitous notes in the fashion Natalie indicated, pictures and make copies of any and all evidence taken to be left in the duffle bag and placed at the final rendezvous spot.

Newt sighed, if only they weren't undercover. Sadly it was a choice made out of necessity. If they weren't worried about alerting the murderer of their presence they could have just donned their circlets and walked right into the scene of the crime unnoticed.

"How long do we wait?" Dodge asked, dragging her out of her thoughts, "for this... _potion_...to work?"

Newt cleared her throat. "That...is a good question," she frowned, "I don't--" She cut herself off.

Wait.

Her skin was tingling. And not in a _my-arm-fell-asleep_ kind of way but a strange bone deep fluttering. Not quite an itch, not quite pain, but definitely uncomfortable.

"Newt?" She lifted her head to look up at Dodge," I think, "she blinked slowly, the tingling spreading, "it's starting to work now."

She looked down at her hands, watching as her skin, smooth with faint scars and cinnamon brown, began rippling, shifting between her own bronzed shade and something lighter, rougher and foreign. Newt chanced a glance at Dodge, noticing how his startling blonde hair had started bleeding into a dark brown.

"Yeah," she said, her voice cracking down to something deeper and masculine before flipping back up to her natural tone, "it's working."

The transformation was quick and sudden with Newt, something for which she was grateful for. She felt pangs as her bones elongated, sharp and biting. Her scalp burned as if it'd been dipped in acid and her hair shortened and changed colors. Her breasts sank into her chest, parts flattening into lightly raised pectorals and down below, she could feel another change taking place, organs lowering and shifting, skin knitting closed and pushing out out _out_ \-- Newt gasped, voice unfamiliar to her own ears. She clutched her stomach, a feeling of overwhelming _wrongness_ overtaking her--

And then it was over.

Newt huffed in place, slowly loosening her white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Wiping her brow with a shaky hand she raised herself back into a sitting position and blearily looked around.

" _Mierda_ ," she said and wow was it weird to feel her vocal cords vibrating so much lower. She cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly dry, "let's not do that again."

Her eyes fell on Dodge who's transfiguration was just finishing: a few wisps of curly brown hair settling over a pleasant heart face. Dodge's expression was pained, the furrow of his brow knit with a lip drawn between his teeth, but he didn't shake. He didn't make a sound. His body was rigid but strangely placid. He shot her a look, brown eyes betraying nothing.

"Let us not," he said in Natalie's crackling voice, high and wispy. He pushed back a lock of hair, looking annoyed at having to do that in the first place.

"Here," Newt said, passing him a hair tie. He took it gratefully. "We go to the scene now, correct?" He said after pulling his hair into an economical ponytail.

"After we change, _si."_

He glanced down at the duffle bag with a look that spoke of bother trepidation and determination. Finally he reached inside, pulling out a bra. His gaze was steely when he said.

"Let's get this over with, yes?"


	26. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 6]

16.

 **It had been surprisingly easy getting** through the lines of the police. Not that Dodge had expected _trouble_ perse but he hadn't counted on things going _this_ smoothly. Something should have gone wrong by now, like their draughts expiring too soon, or the illusion charms around their truck and 'badges' not being up to the scrutiny of their 'peers'. These were, after all, meant to be L.A's finest; Dodge assumed if there were to be any perceptive enough to see that which didn't want to be seen it would be them. The police. The detectives. The investigators. _Constant vigilance-_ -a motto Dodge lived and breathed by--should have been engrained into the blood of the LAPD, yet it appeared it wasn't. He was disappointed.

The charms didn't warm in warning, illusions firmly in place.

The Heart's Envy draught remained undisturbed across the remodeled planes of his skin in a flawless disguise.

The police chief was so simpleminded, Newt had barely had to do more than breathe before they were being led to an even more exclusive area of the scene. No secondary checks. No more badge flashing. Hardly more than a hello. Easy wasn't meant to be in their job description, but apparently today it was. It made Dodge's hackles rise.

"So," Chief Davis said as he led Newt and Dodge behind the police tape and into the ' _heart of the action_ ' as he put it. He ran a meaty hand through his thinning hair, his rotund face already becoming a ruddy red with the rising heat, "glad you could make it. We haven't had anything so... _grizzly_ happen here in awhile, some of the boys didn't much have the stomach for it, if you know what I mean," he chuckled, eying Javier/Newt like they were in on a joke together. Newt laughed, though Dodge could tell it was a response born more out of discomfort than any actual understanding. Davis cleared his throat. "But," he said, wiping his sweaty fingers on the front of his shirt, "you think there may be a correlation to your Moonlight Killer? That whacko from up north?"

" _Si_ ," Newt--wearing the skin of CSI Vasquez--nodded and straightened, smoothing out the imagined wrinkles under her palm. Her hand lingered a bit on her--currently flat--chest but quickly moved on, actions professional as always. In Javier's voice, smoke rough and clipped at the ends, she continued, "from what we know, the disfigurement of the vics body is similar to that of our previous cold case's. The decapitation and the splayed rib-cage are especially reminiscent, though we can't say for sure if they were done by the same person," she paused and leveled the chief with a bland look, "since you already moved the body."

Davis chuckled. "Ah well, we apologise for that little mishap, we hadn't gotten your call until after we'd been through the scene, besides we couldn't just leave her body," he clapped Javier/Newt on the shoulder, "poor timing is all that is. Forensics will be more than willing to accommodate to your needs."

Newt nodded in vague, if not mildly irritated, understanding. "Of course."

"Wonderful!" Davis said. He turned towards the alley now in front of them, gesturing broadly, "and here we are." There was a faint coppery scent waifing out of it, one drowned almost completely by the dizzying smell of bleach. Lights were posed throughout the alley to illuminate the darkest corners of the scene. With them, Dodge could spot the outline they'd drawn around Haley's now moved body, and the spots where they'd presumably found her head a few yards away.

Everything looked to be in order, but Dodge scoffed, awkwardly crossing his arms over the breasts protruding from his chest. "Amateur," he frowned, glaring up at the Chief for no other reason than to glare. Either Davis didn't hear him or he just didn't care, because he continued on as if Dodge had said nothing. Dodge couldn't exactly blame him, he was sure his usual brand of intimidation was severally wounded after losing over a foot of height. And close to a hundred pounds of muscle. And grew a pair of breasts.

Those were probably the the biggest deterrents if he were being honest.

He hated this. Natalie was _really_ not the body he needed to be borrowing. Her being a Cambi just made it worse. This constantly looking up and worrying about whether or not he'd spontaneously sprout a tail or grow a pair of horns or suddenly have the urge to hail Satan wasn't what he needed to be spending his energy on. Even if he knew Cambi didn't grow things like that. With a faint growl he stepped around the towering figures of Javier/Newt and Davis to take a closer look at the scene. Let Newt deal with the talking. He'd get the job done.

 _How do woman tolerate this?_ He wondered, _this feeling of inferiority?_

Being five feet tall made him _supremely_ uncomfortable. Being _slight_ and five foot was even worse. He wanted this done with.

Pulling out the memo-pad he had stuck in his back pocket, he let the voices of Newt and Davis filter over him; his eyes narrowed into squints. Overall the alley looked no different than any other. There weren't any signs of overt struggle, their were no dents in the metal of the dumpster, no chipped or cracked walls, nothing to indicate anything more than a faint breeze had disturbed it. He noted the traces of blood the cleaners had missed, the ones that hadn't been directly around the vics body. They were faint crusted drops, splattered against cement and brick, probably from when whoever killed the girl removed her head.

Dodge continued scouring the scene.  That was another question. Why? Why remove her head? Why rip open her chest cavity? Those were both very calculated and deliberate tasks; the average murderer wouldn't go through that much trouble. If practiced and quick maybe a snapped neck, if amateurish maybe a few bashes to the head with a blunt object. Only someone with motive went for something so purposely brutal. Not to mention the amount of force needed to crack, let alone splay, open someone's sternum was nothing short of significant. A human would have to be very committed to the task and have a decent amount of time to do it too. So... Demon? Dodge rolled the idea around in his mind, arms crossed and frown set as usual. But no, the alley smelled of blood and bleach and trash, not the residue of ozone and the burning, rotting, sick scent of demons.

Besides if it was a simple demon attack they--Dodge and Newt--would not have been pulled from their task specifically. They were senior in the Locust hierarchy, they didn't take grunt work. So then what?

What was he missing.

"--no one else saw or heard anything?" Newt was speaking. Dodge shot them a glance. Head a weathered salt and pepper with a face wrinkled from stress and age, he watched the expressions he'd usually see flit across a softer if not more dangerous face dance across the visage of Javier Vasquez. It was a decidedly jarring experience and the eyes, something about them...Dodge couldn't pinpoint those. They really weren't much darker than Newt's real ones, but they seemed deeper, more jaded, holding less joy. It was odd, since if there was one thing that wouldn't change with a simple transfiguration potion, it would be their eyes. The emotions behind them. Were they not the windows to the soul?

Davis shook his head, hands in his pockets. "Nope," he said, "obviously we couldn't question everyone who passed this alley last night, we don't even know how many people that would be, but considering no one noticed anything until our witness screamed bloody murder, 'spose that gives you a good enough idea."

"So our vic died silently?" Newt cleared her throat, the sound deeper even then she probably expected and frowned. Dodge knew he was still getting used to it. "She didn't make a sound?"

Davis shrugged.

"Not very likely," Dodge grunted, turning his attention back to the scene in front of him. He slowly crossed the distance between him and the outline of the vics body on the asphalt, eyes peeled for anything else out of the ordinary.

 _Why am I here?_ He wondered. There had to be a reason, he just had to find it--

He felt a twinge against his left wrist and he shot it a glance. The golden bracelet, the Circlet, the mark of a Locust, it was glowing faintly, the eyes of the dragon an angry red.

He froze.

Dodge felt the moment he knew where he needed to look. It was not like it was anything dramatic, not like there was an explosion or a bright flash of light. No. It was simply a feeling. A Knowing. A whisper that pierced through the droning hum of the voices in the background and reached into the very core of his being.

_Look down now._

He did.

There sitting on the ground, easily missed as nothing but a shard of glass or maybe a particularly deep garnet was a tiny shard of... _something_ , no bigger than his thumbnail. It was underneath the crumpled remains of a magazine and with a light nudge with the toe of his shoe, he pushed it aside.

_There it is._

Dodge bent down, waving his left wrist over the shard. He watched as the Circlet writhed on his wrist in anger, the oroboros circling his wrist snarling around the tail in it's mouth. He found it. He Knows it. Why they're here. And it was definitely demonic. He picked it up.

Staring down at his palm, he turned towards the other two at the mouth of the alley. "I found something," he said, "I believe it to be important."


	27. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [1 7]

**17.**

**Ozzie kept seeing her face--Haley's face** \--staring back up at him through that fucking sand, frozen in a relief of silky fine grains. It haunted him as much as the thought of her corpse did--a memory on constant loop. He couldn't get her out of his head. It wasn't enough to have found her body. It wasn't enough that his own betrayed him in his sleep. Even now, even awake, she was stalking him, her ghost clinging to his subconscious and whispering in his ear, moving his hands and drawing with his fingers...

Angry. Pleading. Desperate.

You can't forget. I won't let you forget. Remember. Remember. Remember.

Ozzie stared at the hands in his lap, Toni's Prius bumping along the shitty city road, the radio on low. They were the hands of an artist, slightly calloused but fine, elegant and slender with golden-tanned, sun-kissed digits. They were his hands, hands that he'd been born with, hands that he'd trained to work in tandem with his eyes and his mind and now, now--

They are mine. Just like your thoughts and dreams. They belong to me. Another ghost to keep you company.

You'll remember me. You'll remember me, just like your parents and that bloody Beast. You'll remember me. You'll remember me or I'll prove to everyone that you're completely insane.

You'll remember me because you must. You've lost too much of yourself to remember anything else.

So remember me, remember me, another ghost to make you weep.

He clenched them into fists, his hands--his--watching the fingers twitch and respond to the command. He felt the burn and stretch of muscle underneath his skin, pulling taut over bone. He felt the sharp bite of nails digging into supple flesh. These are mine. This is me. He shut his eyes, the drawn image of Haley's face in the sandbox filtering back to the forefront of his mind. Taunting him. Remember. He just wanted to be left alone. He just wanted to forget.

He remembered what she'd looked like standing haughtily at the front of the line, though. She had been drawing attention to herself like some sort of self-righteous queen, proud and angry and sure of her place in the world. Her dress was too short, her make-up intense and almost violent looking, her voice shrill and entitled and gosh how many minutes had that been? Before. Before she'd died?

Before she'd been murdered.

She'd been a bit of a bitch he remembered, yelling at her friend and causing a scene, but--

Ozzie ran a trembling hand through his hair, pulling at the roots and letting out a slow tortured breath. It was rude to think ill of the dead. They were dead for fuck's sake. It wasn't his place to judge. It wasn't a joke. Ozzie pulled on the string of his hoodie, twirling it around his fingers, brow furrowed and feet pressed up against the dash. His shoes were off like they always were and they knocked together under the seat while the late afternoon sun streamed through the cracked windows.

Beside him, Toni cleared her throat, a sudden, quiet sound that honestly wouldn't have caught his attention if not for the fact that she turned the radio off the moment she did. Ozzie jerked in his seat, twisting up to look at her in confusion. He raised a brow.

"So," she said, flicking a glance over to him. They turned a corner, Toni waving a pedestrian past before slowly putting the car back in motion, "how are you feeling?" She clicked her blinker off, eyes glued to the road.

"Peachy," Ozzie scoffed, scooting up a little more in his seat, "just great," he said and placed his feet on the floor. He sighed, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie and Ozzie rolled a ball of lint twixt his thumb and pointer finger, "feel like I need a cigarette," he mumbled, letting his head loll back against the headrest. His eyes slid shut.

A pause. "What happened to the one's I got you?"

Crap.

"Uh," Ozzie licked his lips, "used them?"

"Already?" She sounded exasperated, "Ozzie, that was like three, four packs."

Ozzie winced. "And...s'been three, four days, yeah?"

Toni groaned, the sound of her fingers drumming on the steering wheel filtering over that of the engine. Ozzie cracked an eye open. She was frowning, lips pinched into a line, burgundy lip-stick staining her lips like a bruise.

"I'm not getting you anymore," she said, matter-of-fact.

He nodded, hunched in his seat. "Not gonna ask you too."

"Good." The two lapsed back into silence.

Ozzie let it sit for a minute--the quiet--or at least the wordlessness of it. He grasped at the moment, a ceasefire to arms while they collected their thoughts. Toni's nails rapped against the wheel. Tension ran from the pit of his stomach and up and out his mouth. A breath. Then another. His shoulders loosened and he rolled his neck. Okay.

"I have to start the feelings journal shit again," he said dully.

It was Toni's turn to be surprised, "oh?" One of her perfectly arched brows lifted, making the lines across her forehead all the more prominent. "And you're going to actually do it this time? Not half ass it with insults and half intelligible ramblings?"

Ozzie huffed. He stared down at his lap. "They weren't 'ramblings'," he picked at a hole in his sweats, working a finger through the gap. "Not really."

"Well they certainly weren't anything that made sense."

"I was angry," he mumbled, "I think that was clear 'nough."

Toni hummed in response. She pulled up to a red light. The coast was in front of them, buildings no longer tall enough to block it out. Ozzie pulled down the sun visor and angled it to keep the worst of the light out of his face. At least it wasn't raining.

"'M gonna do it Toni," he said, voice sounding small, "don't worry about it."

"I always worry about you."

"I know," Ozzie said, "just don't worry about this." Then he turned the radio back on.

"Ha," a mirthless smile teased the corner of Toni's mouth. He could see it in the reflection of the rearview mirror, "okay then Ozzie, I won't."

A few minutes later they pulled up to their home, the tall steepled roof standing out like a beckon amongst all the flat ones around it. Toni put the car in idle while Ozzie got out and opened the garage. She drove in and Ozzie closed it behind her.

"There's a box of books by the door in the back room," Toni said when she finally stepped out of her vehicle, the noise of the engine fading to nothing, "can you bring it out to the front for me?"

Ozzie nodded and rolled his shoulders. "Sure," he replied, "what's in 'em?"

"Some used books someone donated," Toni shrugged and rolled her eyes, her heels clicking against the cement floor as she walked, "didn't get a chance to look through them, but you can just put them on the bargain shelf. Not like we aren't going to make a profit either way."

Placing her sunglasses in the low-lying neck of her cardigan she adjusted the scarf on her head and waved a hand noncommittally through the air, "apparently they didn't realize we weren't the Goodwill but hey, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?" she droned.

Ozzie smirked. "You tellin' me we ain't a library then, Toni?" he deadpanned, "I've been lied to."

"Funny," she drawled, "I'm going to unlock the front, you," she pointed at Ozzie, "get that box."

"Yes ma'am," he jerked his head in the affirmative.

The two of them stepped amicably into the house. Toni was quick to stride through the backroom, moving through rows of industrial shelving and boxes with a fluidity that came from familiarity. Ozzie took a more sedate pace, slinking across the hardwood floor with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The late afternoon sun cast little dust ridden veins of light onto the ceiling and walls, giving enough illumination to see by.

He liked the backroom; the sounds weren't as jarring here, nor were there any people to deal with. If he couldn't be in his little attic room, this was his sanctuary: a place full of books and silence. It was a place to lose himself--not in his head--but in the minds of others.

He didn't linger long though, he didn't have the time for it, he stayed just long enough to drag his fingers across a few metal frames before sticking his free hand back in his hoodie and making his way to the threshold Toni had disappeared through moments before. Once there he found the box Toni had mentioned and hoisted it up between his wiry arms, letting out a faint huff of air as he did so.

"Toni?!" He called, staggering into the front of the bookstore, "where'd you want these again?!"

No response.

"Toni?!" he repeated through clenched teeth, "seriously?!" Still nothing. "This shit's fucking heavy!" he growled as he stumbled over to the register, nearly collapsing against the countertop beneath it. He placed the cumbersome box down on the island and looked around.

No Toni.

Ozzie blinked. "Where the fuck--" he began, nudging his skewed glasses back up against the bridge of his nose. She wasn't in the store.

"Fantastic," he grumbled, wiping his sweaty hands on his sweats and catching his breath. "Toni?!" He yelled again.

Pushing himself up from his slouched position against the counter he straightened, grabbing his worn copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower and checking the aisles for a shock of kinky brown hair. It was probably a bit of a futile effort. In all honesty he knew he wasn't going to find her in the store, considering she hadn't responded to all his yelling, but the door to their living quarters was locked which meant she hadn't headed upstairs either.

So where the hell did she go? And for that matter...was she okay?

Fuck.

"Toni?" He called again, a strained bit of panic beginning to creep into his voice and he started to walk faster, "Toni?! Come on, this isn't funny!"

Still nothing.

Fuck. What if she really had hurt herself? What then? Did she suddenly collapse? Double fuck. His mind was going a mile a minute. Her heel'd totally just broke. And it would have been that wobbly fucker on her left  foot. And yes it would totally have been her heel because that's an entirely plausible fear with how tall she wears those fucking death traps on her feet. Dammit! And now she has gone and snapped her neck against a book case and is no doubt lying paralyzed on the floor in pain and unable to call for help and any second now he's going to see her sprawled on the floor of one of these aisles and freak the fuck out and she's going to die because he was too busy freaking the fuck out to call nine one one like a fucking retard and Toni's going to end up just like Haley sad and broken and alone only it would be worse because this time it would really be all his fault and then he'd have another ghost in his head telling him to remember remember remember and--

"Ozzie?"

Ozzie very well almost slammed into the bookcase he was next to he startled so bad.

"Toni," he said, shakily, heart in his throat and hand on his chest. He licked his lips, "there you are," he said, trying to appear as casual as possible and not at all like he just lost a good ten years off his life, "I was--uh--looking for you. Couldn't remember where you'd wanted that box."

"Uh-huh," Toni said, giving him a look that very much said how little she believed that story, but she let it slide, merely pursing her lips in a disbelieving line. "I want you to meet someone," she said instead of forcing the issue, something she'd no doubt do later, ugh, "well two someone's actually. Dodge and Newt." She turned, waving to the two figures behind her, the people who Ozzie'd just noticed loitering awkwardly by the entrance of the store. He cocked his head to the side.

There was a male and a female--man and woman--hovering by the door. The former was astronomically tall and slouching where he stood in the doorway to fit beneath it, his biceps like medium sized melons where they bulged in his crossed arms. Jesus, Ozzie thought, dude could give Captain America a run for his money. The latter was tiny in comparison, barely coming up to the middle of Cap's chest with skin like cinnamon and curly chestnut brown hair that  she'd pulled into a messy bun. Both of them, despite their somewhat nervous demeanor, seemed nothing but professional.... Of course they also didn't look anything like the on-call shrinks or family friends Toni usually introduced him to so really Ozzie had no clue as to why he was meeting them in the first place.

"Uh, yo," he said after a moment, giving a two fingered salute to the mystery pair. He was confused but at least attempting to be polite. His mother would be proud.

The two gave him a nod in response though the female managed to crack a smile to make her expression a little less severe. The man, on the other hand, simply stared (or glared)--Ozzie wasn't really sure what to call the serious look on the man's face--at him, not even blinking, something which Ozzie would willingly admit to finding just the tiniest bit unnerving. He turned to Toni and raised a questioning brow.

"Dodge," Toni said, pointing to the blond male, "Newt," she gestured towards the darker skinned woman. She looked back at Ozzie. "Now you've all been acquainted."

"Uh," Ozzie frowned, "cool?...I guess...?"

"Yes, very 'cool' Ozzie," she said, rolling her eyes and smirking down at him like she was talking to a particularly small child, "these two are going to be looking out for you for the foreseeable future courtesy of the LAPD. Feel free to thank Obama."

"Oh," Ozzie nodded in understanding. Then he blinked as what she said actually sunk in, "wait what?" A pause.

"Dude, why the fuck do I need bodyguards?"


	28. ②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [ 1 8 ]

**18**.

 **Ozzie's left leg bounced where it** rested underneath the kitchen table. Across from him sat three figures each with a pair of, what felt like, barely blinking eyes. He could feel their gazes acutely--the way they stared, harsh prickling needles all along the meat of his arms.

Taking a breath, Ozzie ran a thumb across the corner of his mouth. The pad rubbed back and forth along the thin fleshy skin of his upper lip and his hunched pose forced his hair to fall like a shroud over his face. His other hand stirred restlessly at the tea in front of him: a simple chamomile blend that had been sweetened with two cubes of sugar and poured almost delicately into a chipped china cup. He was careful not to clink the edges with his spoon though, the motion constrained yet volatile in its reverence, a moment away from snapping. The cup had been one of his mother's, part of a bigger set, each with little lavender embroidery all along their rims. He remembered drinking Earl Grey from them in cozy couches on lazy Saturday mornings with his _Ammi_ , her tinkling laugh echoed in his own soft smile... Ozzie blinked, his stirring slowing and then, _only_ then, under the cloak of his bangs and with the guise of nervousness running through his body, did he chance a proper look at the other three sitting at the table.

The first was the blond--Dodge--with his icey almost clear in color gaze. He stared mutely across the wood of the table at Ozzie. Dodge's hands looked even bigger where they cradled one of his mother's teacups and part of Ozzie wanted to tell the other man to _put it the fuck down right now and grab a cheap mug--_ etiquette be damned--but the other part, the bigger, yellow part was full of cowardice and too wimpish to even look the blond in the eye. Which really _sucked_. If he couldn't even muster the courage to do _that_ much there was no way in hell he'd manage to open his mouth up to say anything as mundane as _hello_ let alone _yell_ at the guy.

Etiquette it would have to be, or at least some vague facsimile of it. Let them think him reserved but amiable, shy but well-bred. Even if Toni was bound to see through his act for what it was, it was still worth playing simply for the fact that these strangers, Dodge and Newt, _wouldn't know the difference_.

So, Ozzie just bit his lip and looked away. He tried not to think about just how _fragile_ the memento looked in Dodge's hands. Instead he forced his gaze onwards, to Dodges right, where Newt sat. Her gaze was more welcoming than her partner's, a warm brown and she smiled when she caught him staring. Ozzie was quick to look away then.

Finally, to Newt's right sat Toni, his Aunt's gaze a familiar dark almost black brown against his own and she didn't even bother pretending that she hadn't been staring, she just kept right on doing it. She knew exactly what _he_ had been doing too, he could tell by the expression on her face: a look that rode the thin line between fondly exasperated and exasperatedly amused. It was with a faint quirk of her deeply pigmented lips that she brought her cup to her mouth. _Carry on_. The look seemed to say. _Keep_ _keeping tabs. Make your_ _judgments_ _. Pull the shattered shell of yourself back together for the people who want to integrate themselves into the worn fabric of your life to see. Put on a show. Make it_ _ **good**_ _._

(Of course she probably only knew all of this because she had been doing the same thing--watching, cataloguing, judging, just like Ozzie--only her charge was a singular target instead of three: himself.)

It took every ounce of Ozzie's self control not to cringe at the thought.

He stared back, fingers clasped firmly but not harshly around the handle of his cup and held her gaze. He saw the dare there and he _took_ _it--_ grabbed it by the balls and hung on. He brought his cup to his lips. Disguised his fortifying breath with one that simply delighted in the smell of chamomile. He took a sip and then, eyes still locked with Toni's, said in the steadiest voice he could muster, "don't you think 'm a bit old for a babysitter, Toni?"

She smirked.

"They aren't here to _babysit_ you, Ozzie," she set her cup back down against her saucer, "we already have _James_ for that." Ozzie's lips twitched into a frown, an eyebrow flicking up in vague irritation. _Low blow, Toni. Low blow._

Setting his cup down as well, Ozzie leaned back, slouching in his seat. "Ha, ha," he said mildly, knee jittering in its place underneath the table; he crossed his arms over his chest, "very funny Toni, seriously, truly hilarious."

"It's a gift," she drawled, inclining her head.

Ozzie scoffed, eyes glued to the whorls in the wood that made up the table. "Uh-huh." She ignored the jab, and for a moment there was a lull in conversation as Toni grabbed a Madeline from the tray in the center of the table.

Ozzie chanced another glance at the strangers: Dodge and Newt. Neither of them seemed to have touched their tea beyond holding their cups between the palms of their hands. Ozzie frowned. _What kinda names are Dodge and Newt anyway?_ He thought. _Codenames? Why would a couple of police officers need codenames? Are they like secretly CIA or some shit?_ He glared at the steam spiraling up and out from over the rim of their cups. Untouched still. _And jeez, they allergic to hospitality or_ _somethin_ _'? It's tea, not poison._ Ozzie pulled his arms closer to his chest, a tick twitching in his jaw.

_This isn't gonna work._

"This _isn't_ up for debate, you know--" Toni said as if reading his thoughts. Ozzie jerked his head back up at the sound of her voice. She had a serious expression on her face, her gaze critical and seeming to look right through him like translucent glass. Ozzie gulped, "--them being your bodyguards," she took another sip from her tea, jerking her thumb in the direction of the other two at the table before continuing. "Dodge and Newt _are_ going to be watching you," she enunciated slowly, precisely, using a tone that brokered no argument, "I don't care if you think it's fair or if you feel like you're being treated like a five year old. It's for your protection and that's it, end of story."

Ozzie blinked, nodding slowly and letting Toni's spiel run over him. "...Okay..." he said finally, his thumb rubbing along his bottom lip in concentration. He sighed. He felt a lot of things right then. Irritation at the lack of control he had over his own life, a certain bit of curiousity, but mostly what he felt was weariness. He was tired, and maybe some of that was the tea talking, but he knew how this would go. It would end up the same way it always did, with him giving into Toni's desires, just like how he gave into James and Clint and Dr. Nelson and everyone else in his life. Hell even that DJ Shade/Dante whatever the fuck got him to tell him his name if nothing else.

(The only difference here would be that he and Toni would end up in an _actual_ argument in front of _actual_ strangers, which, well Ozzie wasn't too keen on _actually_ happening.

Plus there may have been a tiny part of him that was a little afraid too.)

"Okay," Ozzie said again--firmer this time--less of a whisper and more of a statement--Toni's brow arched in surprise, " _but_ ," he forced himself to continue knowing he wouldn't get it out otherwise, "I want to know _why_ first." He took a breath, dragging his eyes up to meet Toni's.

"Why do I have to be shadowed in the first place?"

Toni chuckled. "That's all?"

Ozzie nodded, eyes slipping away from hers. "I think that's...fair to ask," he mumbled, fingers drumming nervously against the side of his cup, "shouldn't I know that much?"

Toni inclined her head in response, "yes, okay," she straightened in her seat, gesturing noncommittally with her free hand towards the two beside her, "well?" She said, "go on then," Dodge and Newt blinked in suprise, though Newt's reaction was decidedly more violent. She flinched hard enough to spill some of her tea onto the table at the direct address, "answer him."

"Uh, _si_ ," the two glanced at each other, a silent conversation seeming to pass between their eyes and Newt cleared her throat, "yeah we can, uh, tell you that, shouldn't go against anything?" She looked at Dodge for confirmation, continuing when he nodded, "okay so, uhm _hola_ ," Newt said offering a shaky smile to Ozzie and a somewhat damp hand out to shake. Ozzie handed her a napkin instead, "okay, that's... okay, uhm," she awkwardly dropped her hand back to the table, "well I'm Newt, guess we--or I--should start with that? Since we'll be seeing a lot of each other for awhile?"

Ozzie peeked up at her through his bangs. "That supposed to be a question or a statement?"

"Statement," Newt said, "definitely supposed to be stated," she laughed awkwardly,  "that, er, okay?"

Ozzie nodded, "state away," he rasped, looking back at his hands.

"Cool, so, you want to know why we're here right?"

Ozzie grunted. "Uh-huh."

"Right, so, here's the gist, we have reason to believe this...incident isn't an isolated one," she began, "a couple months ago Dodge and I were put on a case, you may have heard of it, was real big up by San Fran and Palo Alto and the like," she paused and Ozzie furrowed his brow in thought.

"Something about a night time killer?" He tilted his head, sinking further down into his seat, "or...like," he trailed off,"...something."

Newt nodded, "close. The official title was _Moonlight Killer,_ but the premise is the same: a psychopath running around dismembering people, seemingly at random, from as young as five years old to twenty-nine," she let that sink in. "Nothing else tied the victims together besides the radius of the killings and the way they were killed. All of them had been decapitated, all of them had their chest cavities, uhm," Newt stumbled over her words, "rearranged...and all of them had halos of blood above their chopped necks. "

"That's..." Ozzie blinked, eyes widening slightly as she finished talking. He pushed his tea away from himself, suddenly losing his appetite, "that's _fucked_." _And now 'm gonna  have nightmares about decapitated blood angels for the next couple of forevers._ He thought. _Fuck. My therapist will need a therapist by the time this shit is over._

"Yeah..." Newt offered him a strained smile. "It is."

Ozzie bit his lip. "And you think this dude is _here_?"

"We never caught the guy in San Fran. The killings just...stopped," Newt shrugged somewhat sadly; embarrassed. "And the M.O fits--more or less--not perfectly, but pretty close. We think something interrupted the perp before they could finish."

 _Never caught--_ Ozzie bunched his fists in his lap, a chill running down his spine. This thumb and forefinger tugged at the ragged edge of his hoodie. "That...is a disturbing thought on many levels," Ozzie mumbled, "but, uh, that still doesn't like...explain _why_ you two are here...to watch me," he cleared his throat. "Last I checked bodyguards didn't stop nightmares."

"Well like I said, we think something or someone interrupted our perp before they could, er, finish," Newt spun her finger in a small circle in the air, miming a Halo, "And well, people like that... they can be unpredictable. We don't know how they'll react to _knowing_ who stopped them." Newt dropped her gaze, awkwardly jostling her teacup up to her mouth and taking a sip from it, finally.

"Okay," Ozzie processed this, took in how Newt was decidedly looking just to the left of him instead of right at him like she had been. He took in the grim line of his Aunt's face, resolute but weary. He even looked at Dodge, the only one to not say a word this entire time.

"You think it was me." He stated. Not a question. "Me that somehow stopped this guy from doing what? Drawing a blood halo on the ground?"

" _Si_ ," Newt said.

"Fuck," Ozzie took a steadying breath, " _fuck_ ," he said again. He could feel his pulse rising: this gnawing twisting knot in the pit of his stomach. It made him sick--a lump in his throat and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't. The lump was blocking his trachea and he couldn't breathe. Had to get it out. _Remember_. He couldn't. Couldn't. He couldn't--

 _Calm down Ozzie. Focus on the now. Stay grounded. Don't spin out. You don't have time for that. Come on._ His knee began jittering under the table. His fingers dug into the meat of his thighs through the fabric of his sweat pants. This shit couldn't be happening right now. _Focus. Teacup. Lavender decoration. Green leaves. Purple petals. Porcelain. White. Focus. Focus. Focus._

_Calm the fuck down._

_Mahogany table. Wood grain. Circle. Circle. Circle. The smell of herbs and flowers. Focus on that. Focus. Come on._

Taking another breath, Ozzie breathed through the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. It wasn't really there. Steady. Even huffs. It hurt and he could feel the panic bubbling just under the surface but he kept it at bay.

Still tense, he lifted his head. There was one more thing he had to ask. Probably the most important question of them all. Because even if Ozzie had interrupted the dude's cultish human mutilation ritual or whatever the fuck, that doesn't matter. It shouldn't because _no one was in the alley when he found Haley._ So...

"How's this dude know it's me?" He rasped, hands still gripping his legs. He felt like he was about to explode, his atoms barely keeping him solid, like he'd turn to dust, vibrate right out of existence if not for sheer force of will.

"Twitter. Snapchat. YouTube. Instagram. Facebook. Take your pick," Newt winced, "you were trending before the story even made the news. Everyone knows your face, and by now everyone knows your name too."

_Everyone knows your face--_

Dodge cleared his throat and Ozzie's eyes immediately snapped to his, locked solid by the harshness, the _ice_ in them. His expression, if possible, was even more severe than before: stern and unshakeable, an Everest piercing a frosted peak through the clouds, terrifying but awe inspiring.

"And so does he," he said gruffly, voice tinged with an accent Ozzie couldn't place.

Ozzie huffed out a weak sounding chuckle. "Great," he mumbled. A sigh left his lips, "figures I'd be fucked by Facebook."

 _The internet_ _can suck my dick._


End file.
